THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 

MABEL  R.  G3ULIS 


CRICKET 


HOW    CRICKET    DELIVERED    THE    MESSAGE. 


CRICKET 


BY 

ELIZABETH    WESTYN    TIMLOW 


ILLUSTRATED   BY 

HARRIET  R.  RICHARDS 


BOSTON 
ESTES   AND   LAURIAT 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1895, 
BY  ESTES  AND  LAURIAT 


Typography  and  Printing  by 

C.  H.  Simonds  &  Co. 

Electrotyping  by  Geo.  C.  Scott  6*  Sons 

Boston,  U-  S.  A. 


TO 

fflg  ILittle 

HELEN    MUNN. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGK 

I.  CRICKET              .        .        .        .        .  11 

II.  THE  QUARREL   .....  22 

III.  DAMMING  THE  BROOK        ...  34 

IV.  THE  CONSEQUENCES  ....  43 
V.  FOURTH  OF  JULY       .        .        .        .  50 

VI.  MAKING  ICE  CREAM  .        .        .        .  61 

VII.  MOPSIE 71 

VIII.  WHAT  MOPSIE  DID    ....  80 

IX.  THE  KITTENS 87 

X.  ELSPETH      .         .         .         .         .         .  97 

XL  IN  THE  GARRET         ....  104 

XII.  THE  TRAMPS 114 

XIII.  MAMIE  HECKER 124 

XIV.  LYNCH  LAW 133 

XV-  GOING  TO  THE  CIDER-MILL       .     .    .  144 

XVI.  THE  RUNAWAY  .         .         .         .         .  151 

XVII.  GOING  BLACKBERRYING     .        .        .  158 

XVIII.  COMING  HOME 172 

XIX.  WHAT  ZAIDEE  AND  HELEN  FOUND.  183 


vi  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XX.  MAMIE'S  MESSAGE   .        .        .        .195 

XXI.  THE  NEW  Cow         ....       204 

XXII.  MAMIE'S  REPENTANCE     .         .         .       215 

XXIII.  WHEN  MAMMA  WAS  A  LITTLE  GIRL       223 

XXIV.  MAMMA'S  BANK        .        .        .        .       234 
XXV.  GOING  BACK  TO  TOWN    .        .        .242 

XXVI.  CRICKET'S  SHORT  MEMORY      .         .       254 

XXVII.  CRICKET'S  BOOMERANG    .        .        .267 

XXVIII.  KENNETH'S  DAY       ....       284 

XXIX.  A  STRAWBERRY  HUNT     .         .         .293 

XXX.  LEFT  BEHIND  .                                           309 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 


How  CRICKET  DELIVERED  THE  MESSAGE  Frontispiece 

PAGE 

HILDA  BY  THE  BROOK 25 

CELEBRATING  THE  4TH  OF  JULY      .         .         .         57 

EUNICE  AND  CRICKET  WATCHING  THE  OTHER 

CHILDREN    .         .         .         .         ...         89 

CRICKET  AND  EUNICE  THREATEN  TO   PUNISH 

MAMIE          .         .  .        .        .         .135 

CRICKET  TRYING  TO  CATCH  THE  MINNOWS  .  1G5 
CRICKET  FINDS  EUNICE  UNCONSCIOUS  .  .  209 
CRICKET  AND  'MANDA 317 


CRICKET. 


CHAPTER  I. 

CRICKET. 

KAYUNA  was  the  loveliest  home  in  the  world. 
At  least,  the  Ward  children  said  so.  The 
family  usually  went  out  of  the  city  as  soon  as 
the  children's  schools  closed,  in  June,  and  stayed 
in  the  country  till  quite  the  first  of  October. 

Kayuna  was  also  the  name  of  a  brook  that 
danced  gayly  through  the  lower  part  of  the 
grounds  of  the  summer  home,  and  that  was  a 
never-failing  delight  to  the  children.  The 
house  itself  was  wide,  old-fashioned  and  roomy, 
with  such  a  splendid  great  garret  as  you  never 
saw  before,  for  rainy  days. 

Do  you  want  to  know  how  many  Wards  there 
were?  Well,  let  me  count.  Of  course,  first 
to  be  mentioned  came  Doctor  papa,  and  dear, 
beautiful  mamma,  who  was  never  very  strong. 
Then  there  was  Donald,  who  was  seventeen,  and 


12  CRICKET. 

a  big  fellow,  as  well,  and  Marjorie,  who  was  two 
years  younger,  but  who  already  began  to  give 
herself  grown-up  airs.  Eunice  was  next,  nearly 
twelve.  Then  came  Cricket,  the  "  middle- 
man." They  never  knew  whether  to  take  her 
with  the  older  ones,  or  leave  her  at  home  with 
the  small  fry.  Donald  would  call  her  "  trundle- 
bed  trash,"  to  her  great  indignation.  Her  name 
was  really  Jean,  but  she  was  such  a  chirpy, 
cheery  little  soul,  that  Cricket  seemed  just  to 
suit  her.  Below  her  were  the  six-year-old  twins ; 
and,  lastly,  baby  Kenneth,  everybody's  pet,  who 
was  nearly  three. 

Was  n't  that  a  house  full  ?  And  such  a 
noise  as  they  were  equal  to  when  they  set  about 
it!  Mamma  often  said  that  it  was  fortunate 
that  the  roof  was  high  and  the  walls  were 
strong,  else  surely  the  house  would  have  come 
down  about  their  ears. 

This  year,  to  the  wild  delight  of  the  entire  fam- 
ily, papa  had  decided  to  go  out  into  the  country 
very  early,  on  mamma's  account,  for  she  needed 
the  country  air.  So  the  middle  of  April  found 
them  comfortably  settled  for  a  long,  lovely 
summer. 

It   was  so  early  that  papa  thought  it  quite 


CRICKET.  13 

worth  while  for  Eunice  and  Cricket,  at  least,  to 
go  to  the  country  school  for  the  rest  of  the 
term,  while  the  older  ones  had  lessons  at  home 
with  him. 

Cricket,  especially,  was  greatly  delighted  with 
this  arrangement.  Her  little  friend,  Hilda 
Mason,  of  whom  she  was  very  fond,  of  course 
went  to  school,  and  it  was  such  fun  going 
together.  The  little  girls  were  delighted  to 
be  with  each  other,  and  Hilda  always  looked 
forward  to  the  summer,  when  Cricket  would 
come  out  into  the  country. 

Hilda  was  a  year  older  than  Cricket,  for  she 
was  eleven  in  June,  and  Cricket  was  ten  in 
August.  By  reason  of  this  extra  year,  she 
always  thought  Cricket  should  do  just  as  she, 
Hilda,  wanted. 

Hilda  was  an  only  child,  and  lived  with  her 
mother  and  grandmother,  who  thought  her 
perfect.  Cricket,  on  the  other  hand,  was  very 
used  to  giving  up  her  own  way,  as  children  in  a 
large  family  generally  are.  Hilda  was  a  quiet, 
demure  little  girl,  with  polite,  grown-up  man- 
ners. She  always  remembered  to  say  "  How-do- 
you  do ! "  and  that  mamma  sent  her  love,  and 
she  never  forgot  any  errand  she  was  sent  on. 


14  CRICKET. 

Cricket  was  a  heedless  little  witch,  and 
rarely,  by  any  chance,  remembered  anything  she 
was  told  to  do.  Her  father  always  said  that 
any  errand  she  was  given  meant  two,  for  she 
was  never  known  to  bring  home  both  her  pack- 
age and  her  change  at  the  same  time. 

Hilda  was  pretty,  with  big  brown  eyes  and 
long,  orderly,  golden  curls.  She  was  plump 
and  straight,  and  rather  proper. 

Cricket  had  short,  brown  curls,  every  one  of 
which  took  a  different  kink,  and  gray-blue  eyes 
that  twinkled  like  merry  little  stars.  She  was 
thin  and  tall  for  her  age,  and  her  papa  used  to 
tease  her  by  calling  her  long  legs  "  knitting- 
needles,"  and  offering  them  to  mamma  for  her 
fancy  knitting. 

Every  morning  Hilda  called  for  Cricket  on 
her  way  to  school.  If  Cricket  had  gone  off 
earlier,  having  been  sent  on  some  errand,  as 
often  happened,  she  left  a  little  red  stone  on  the 
gate-post,  as  a  sign  to  her  little  friend  that  she 
had  gone.  If  Hilda  came  by  early  and  could  n't 
stop,  as  seldom  happened,  she  picked  up  the 
little  red  stone  from  its  hiding-place,  and  left  it 
for  Cricket  to  see. 

But,  usually,   Hilda  turned  in  at  the  gates 


CRICKET.  15 

promptly  at  twenty  minutes  of  nine,  and  walked 
up  the  long  avenue,  around  to  the  side  piazza. 
Then  she  would  open  the  door,  and  call  gently 
up  the  side  staircase,  "  Ready,  Cricket  ?  " 

A  voice  from  above  would  answer,  promptly, 
"  I  'm  coming.  Have  you  got  your  sums  ? " 
and  Cricket  would  come  out  of  her  room  at  the 
head  of  the  stairs,  giving  a  last,  smoothing 
touch  to  her  kinky  hair. 

Then  she  would  plunge  down  stairs,  usually 
arriving  at  the  bottom  by  way  of  the  bannisters, 
provided  she  did  not  trip  at  the  top  and  come 
down  head-foremost.  Next  would  follow  a  wild 
search  for  her  hat,  until  she  remembered  she 
had  left  it  last  night  in  the  grape  arbour ; 
then  her  sacque  must  be  found,  and  that  was 
probably  hanging  on  some  tree,  —  where  she 
had  taken  it  off  to  climb  better.  Strange  to 
say,  her  books  were  generally  at  hand,  for  heed- 
less Cricket  loved  to  study. 

Hilda  always  carried  her  school-books  in  a 
neat  little  bag,  for  she  said  that  a  strap  bent  the 
edges  of  the  books.  Cricket  strapped  hers  as 
tightly  as  possible,  for  she  liked  to  swing  them 
by  the  long  end  as  she  walked  along.  Besides, 
they  made  a  splendid  thing  to  throw  at  a  stray 
cat,  —  which  she  never  hit. 


16  CRICKET. 

By  the  time  she  was  fairly  ready,  Eunice 
would  appear,  fresh  and  sweet  and  unhurried. 
Then  Hilda  and  Eunice  would  walk  quietly 
down  the  piazza  steps,  while  Cricket  would  say, 
"  Want  to  see  me  jump  off  the  piazza  as  far  as 
that  stone  ?  "  Off  she  would  shoot  through  the 
air,  and,  alighting,  would  race  down  the  avenue, 
to  wait  panting  at  the  gate  till  Hilda  and  Eunice 
should  come  up.  Then  for  two  minutes,  per- 
haps, they  would  keep  side  by  side,  while  they 
talked  over  those  dreadful  decimals,  which  they 
hated  so. 

Hilda  and  Eunice  kept  straight  along  the 
shady  path,  but  Cricket  was  seldom  known  to 
walk.  She  ran,  she  skipped,  she  danced,  she 
went  backward,  and  varied  the  way  still  further 
by  betaking  herself  to  the  stone  fences,  wher- 
ever they  were  smooth  enough  on  top. 

When  they  arrived  at  school  Hilda  was 
orderly,  cool  and  sweet,  and  as  trim  as  if  she 
had  just  left  her  mother's  hands ;  Cricket  had 
riotous  looking  clothes,  hot,  tumbled  curls,  hat 
hanging  off  her  head,  but  was  always  dimpling 
and  smiling,  and  serenely  sure  that  every  one 
would  greet  her  with  a  shout. 

Eunice  sat  with  her  particular  friend,  Edith 


CRICKET.  17 

Craig,  but  Cricket  and  Hilda  shared  the  same 
desk,  to  the  distraction  of  the  long-suffering 
teacher.  She  was  always  threatening  to  sep- 
arate them,  but  her  heart  would  melt,  at  the  last 
minute,  at  their  beseeching  looks  and  penitent 
vows  to  be  good  and  study  hard,  and  never 
whisper  any  more.  They  usually  did  have  their 
lessons,  as  it  happened,  for  they  were  both 
bright,  and  both  fond  of  study. 

Hilda  was  not  altogether  a  favourite,  for  she 
was  apt  to  be  both  selfish  and  exacting,  often  a 
little  jealous,  and  always  determined  to  be  first 
in  everything.  She  was  quick  in  all  her  studies 
but  her  arithmetic,  and  here  Cricket  excelled, 
greatly  to  Hilda's  disgust.  Many  a  time  she 
slyly  rubbed  out  Cricket's  just  completed  work, 
and  the  surprised  child  would  presently  whisper, 
"  Did  you  ever !  I  've  gone  and  rubbed  out  my 
to-morrow's  examples  by  mistake.  Did  you 
ever  see  such  a  goose  ? "  and  by  the  time  she 
had  done  them  again,  Hilda  would  have  been 
able  to  make  up  her  work. 

Altogether  their  friendship  was  just  on  this 
basis :  Hilda  always  wanted  her  own  way,  and 
Cricket  was  willing  she  should  have  it ;  so  they 
got  on  swimmingly. 


18  CRICKET. 

Nevertheless,  one  day  they  quarrelled.  It 
happened  in  this  wise  : 

Playing  charades  was  one  of  the  children's 
favourite  amusements.  At  Kayuna  there  was  a 
fine,  large  nursery,  opening  off  the  wide  hall, 
which  gave  a  splendid  field  for  action,  and  the 
good-natured  nurse  was  always  ready  to  help 
them  out  with  their  plans. 

One  rainy  Saturday  the  whole  troop  were  in- 
doors, and  after  luncheon  charades  were  voted 
for.  There  were  Eunice  and  her  little  friend, 
Edith  Craig,  Hilda,  Cricket,  the  twins,  Helen 
and  Zaidee,  and  Kenneth. 

Kenneth  was  a  star,  by  the  way.  He  was 
always  willing  to  be  pulled  about  like  a  rag-doll, 
and  really  seemed  to  enjoy  it.  They  would  roll 
him  up  for  a  caterpillar,  and  stand  him  up 
straight  for  a  post,  and  sprawl  him  out  for  a 
spider.  He  would  take  any  position  they  put 
him  in,  as  if  he  were  wax,  and  would  inquire 
anxiously,  after  the  scene  was  over,  "  Did  I  do 
zatall  right?" 

On  this  particular  day,  for  some  reason,  none 
of  them  were  quite  as  good-natured  as  usual. 
Perhaps  they  had  been  together  rather  too  long, 
for  Edith  and  Hilda  had  both  arrived  quite 


CRICKET.  19 

early,  and  had  stayed  to  luncheon.  Perhaps, 
also,  the  unusual  confinement  in  the  house  made 
them  all  a  little  irritable. 

The  children  usually  divided  themselves  into 
actors  and  audience,  by  turns.  Cricket  and 
Hilda  had  the  stage  now,  with  Kenneth  as  sup- 
port. Eunice  and  Edith,  with  the  twins,  there- 
fore, were  audience. 

The  little  actors  were  searching  their  brains 
for  a  new  word  to  act.  "  Penobscot,"  and  "  con- 
nundrum,"  and  "  goldsmith,"  and  "  antidote  " 
had  already  been  used,  with  dozens  of  others. 

"I  know,"  cried  Cricket,  brightening  up. 
"Let's  take  secure" 

"  Secure  ?  Well,  how  shall  we  do  it  ?  "  ques- 
tioned Hilda. 

"  Why,  sick-cure,  of  course,"  answered  Cricket, 
promptly.  "  Won't  that  do  ?  In  the  first  scene, 
Kenneth  would  be  sick  — 

"  And  I  'd  be  the  doctor,"  put  in  Hilda. 

"  And  I  'd  be  his  mother,"  went  on  Cricket. 

"And  I'd  come  and  see  him  and  give  him 
some  pills — " 

"  And  in  the  next  scene  we  'd  cure  him." 

"  I  'on't  tate  any  pills,"  announced  the  baby 
behind  them,  unexpectedly,  and  very  decidedly. 


20  CRICKET. 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  will,"  said  Hilda,  impatiently, 
"  they  won't  taste  bad  —  just  little  make-believe 
pills." 

"  I  don't  lite  'em,"  wailed  the  baby,  rebelling, 
for  the  first  time,  against  his  elders.  He  was 
tired,  poor  little  fellow,  for  he  had  gone  through 
many  experiences  that  afternoon.  He  had  been 
wound  on  to  a  lap-board  with  shawls,  to  repre- 
sent an  Esquimau  baby.  He  had  been  placed 
on  a  very  insecure  table,  with  newspaper  wings 
tied  on  his  bare  shoulders,  to  pose  as  a  Cupid. 
Besides  this,  he  had  been  Daniel  in  the  lion's 
den,  with  Zaidee  and  Helen  as  lions,  growling 
and  spitting  so  frightfully  around  him,  and  mak- 
ing such  an  alarming  pretence  of  eating  him  up, 
that  he  had  fled,  in  sudden  dismay,  to  the  audi- 
ence, to  take  refuge  behind  Cricket,  who  was 
always  his  protection  in  times  of  trouble. 

Now,  the  suggestion  of  pills  was  more  than 
the  little  fellow  could  stand. 

"  Just  pretend,  baby  dear,"  coaxed  Cricket. 
"  See,  I'll  sit  down  here  with  this  funny  old  cap 
on,  and  this  shawl  over  my  shoulders,  and  I  '11 
play  I'm  your  mamma,"  dressing  herself  as  she 
spoke.  "  And  then,"  she  went  on,  "  you  can  lie 
on  my  lap,  this  way,  and  Hilda  will  put  on 


CKICKET.  21 

Donald's  overcoat  and  those  big  spectacles. 
Just  see  how  funny  she  looks !  and  she  '11  put 
that  fur  cap  on  her  head,  and  she'll  come  in 
and  feel  your  pulse,  and  say,  '  Very  sick  child, 
marm.'  And  then,  she  will  only  just  pretend  to 
give  you  some  pills." 

Kenneth  still  looked  doubtful,  but  Cricket 
caught  up  a  shawl  and  wrapped  it  around  him, 
and  drew  his  head  down. 

"  That's  a  good  boy.  Put  your  head  down  on 
mamma's  arm,"  she  said,  still  coaxingly. 

"  I  does  n't  'ant  to,"  fretted  Kenneth,  but, 
nevertheless,  he  stretched  himself  obediently  on 
Cricket's  lap.  As  his  head  dropped  back,  he 
shut  his  eyes  very  tightly,  as  he  was  told,  and 
opened  his  mouth  very  wide,  as  he  always  did, 
in  the  funniest  way,  whenever  he  shut  his  eyes 
to  order. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE    QUAKREL. 

Now,  Hilda  was  a  good  deal  of  a  tease,  in  a 
quiet  way.  The  little  fellow  looked  so  funny  as 
he  lay  there  with  closely  shut  eyes,  and  wide- 
open  mouth,  that,  quick  as  a  flash,  came  the  im- 
pulse to  throw  something  in  it.  She  turned  to 
the  washstand  close  by,  where  was  still  standing 
some  water  in  which  they  had  just  washed  their 
hands.  Nurse's  big  thimble  was  on  the  wash- 
stand  also,  and  Hilda  snatched  it  up,  and 
emptied  a  thimbleful  of  the  water  right  down 
the  poor  baby's  throat. 

There  was  a  gurgle,  a  howl,  a  choke,  and  Ken- 
neth lay  gasping  and  struggling  for  breath,  for 
the  water  had  gone  down  his  little  windpipe. 
The  audience  from  the  hall,  and  nurse  from  an 
adjoining  room,  came  rushing  in.  Poor  little 
Kenneth  was  purple  in  the  face.  Nurse  snatched 
him  up  and  patted  his  back,  and  blew  in  his 
mouth,  to  make  him  catch  his  breath. 

Hilda   stood   frightened  at  the  mischief  she 


THE    QUARREL.  23 

had  unthinkingly  done.  Cricket  turned  upon 
her,  in  a  sudden  blind  fury  of  rage,  for  almost 
the  first  time  in  her  life. 

"  You  mean,  mean,  horrid  girl !  To  treat  my 
baby  so  !  I  hate  you,  there !  You  're  always  do- 
ing mean  things,  and  you  always  take  the  big- 
gest of  everything,  and  you've  made  baby  cry 
before." 

"  You  are  mean,"  chimed  in  Eunice ;  "  I  've 
seen  you  rub  out  Cricket's  sums,  and  I  always 
meant  to  tell  everybody,  when  I  got  a  good 
chance." 

"And  I  know  who  ate  up  all  my  candy," 
added  Edith. 

"  You  tooked  my  dolly  and  hided  her,  and  I 
cried !  "  put  in  Zaidee,  joining  the  attacking 
force. 

"  And  I  know  who 's  a  sneak,  and  told  on 
Mabel  Wilson,  when  none  of  the  other  girls 
would  !  "  cried  Eunice. 

"You're  the  selfishest,  meanest  old  thing!" 
it  was  Cricket's  turn  again.  She  had  gotten 
hold  of  Kenneth  now,  and  he  was  clinging  with 
both  arms  around  the  neck  of  his  favourite  sister. 

"  To  pour  that  horrid,  dirty  water  down  his 
throat,  just  to  tease  him,"  went  on  Cricket, 


24  CRICKET. 

furiously.  "  I  '11  never  forgive  you,  and  I  won't 
play  with  you  any  more,  forever  'n'  ever,  'n'  I 
wish  you  'd  go  home  this  moment,  Hilda  Mason, 
there!" 

Hilda  stared  helplessly,  as  the  unexpected 
words  rained  around  her.  Could  they  be  really 
talking  to  her  f  Was  it  her  little  Cricket  who 
was  blazing  like  a  little  fury,  and  actually  tell- 
ing her  to  go  home?  She  was  quite  too 
frightened  to  speak,  at  first,  as  the  angry  group 
around  her  all  talked  at  once. 

"I  didn't  mean,"  she  faltered,  at  last;  then 
she,  too,  burst  into  angry  tears.  "You're 
horrid,  rude  girls  to  say  such  things  to  com- 
pany," she  sobbed.  "  I  'm  going  straight  home 
to  tell  mamma  how  you  treated  me,  and  she  '11 
never  let  me  come  here  again." 

"  You  'd  better  go  right  away,  Miss  Hilda," 
said  nurse,  dryly,  and  she  brought  the  little 
girl's  hat  and  put  on  her  sacque.  Hilda  had 
never  been  at  all  a  favourite  with  her,  for  she 
had  often  seen  her  slyly  tease  the  little  ones. 

Hilda  marched  off  abused,  excited  and  angry. 
The  idea  —  the  very  idea  of  such  language  to 
her,  to  Hilda  Mason,  whom  everybody  called  so 
good,  and  who  was  used  to  being  held  up  as  the 
model  child  of  the  neighbourhood. 


HILDA    15Y    THE    BROOK. 


THE    QUARREL.  27 

And  Cricket,  her  dear  Cricket,  whom  she 
really  loved  heartily,  had  told  her  she  hated 
her,  and  would  never  forgive  her,  and  would  n't 
ever  play  with  her  any  more. 

What  had  she  done  to  deserve  all  this  ? 
Why,  nothing  at  all ;  only  poured  a  little  water 
down  the  baby's  throat,  when  he  looked  so 
funny,  lying  there  with  his  eyes  squeezed  shut, 
and  his  mouth  wide  open.  She  did  n't  know  it 
would  choke  him  so;  of  course  she  didn't 
mean  to  hurt  him.  Such  a  fuss  about  nothing. 
Then,  suddenly,  they  all  flew  at  her,  and  said 
dreadful  things,  right  before  nurse.  Hilda  did 
not  realize  that  such  an  outbreak  is  seldom  as 
sudden  as  it  seems,  and  that  many  grievances 
will  often  smoulder  for  a  long  time,  till  some 
trifle  fires  the  flame. 

She  walked  along,  miserable  enough,  half -cry- 
ing, half-indignant.  The  rain  had  ceased,  and 
the  sky  had  cleared,  so  she  stopped  by  the  brook 
in  the  grassy  lane,  which  the  children  used  as  a 
short  cut,  and  sat  down  by  the  little  bridge. 
She  was  ashamed  to  go  on  into  the  village 
street  while  she  was  crying. 

Here  she  and  Cricket  had  spent  many  happy 
hours,  and  had  never,  never  quarrelled  before. 


28  CRICKET. 

She  did  not  stop  to  think,  then,  to  whom  the 
credit  of  this  belonged.  Cricket  certainly 
always  did  as  Hilda  wished,  but  she  was  sure 
she  was  equally  ready  to  do  as  Cricket  wished, 
wasn't  she?  She  began  to  think.  Cricket 
always  liked  to  keep  on  through  the  woods  to 
Hilda's  house,  while  she  liked  to  strike  off  into 
the  village  street.  How  seldom  they  went 
through  the  woods,  although  it  was  nearer,  and 
Cricket  liked  it  so  well !  Cricket  loved  marsh- 
mallows,  while  Hilda  was  devoted  to  chocolate- 
creams  ;  but  when  they  spent  their  weekly  pen- 
nies together  for  candy,  as  they  always  did,  how 
was  it  they  so  rarely  bought  marsh-mallows  ? 
Hilda's  conscience  pricked  her  faintly. 

"  Well,  I  am  always  willing  she  should  buy 
them,  if  she  'd  just  say  she  would,  any  way,"  she 
reflected,  uneasily. 

But  then,  Cricket  never  did  say  she  "would, 
anyway." 

What  a  delight  it  was  to  her  little  friend  to 
be  out  in  the  fields  and  woods,  searching  out  the 
earliest  wild-flowers,  exploring  for  the  first  chest- 
nuts, perfectly  happy  if  she  were  simply  out- 
of-doors.  She,  herself,  preferred  quiet,  indoor 
sports  and  dolls,  excepting  when  the  weather 


THE    QUAEREL.  29 

just  suited  her,  and  was  neither  too  warm  nor 
too  cold.  Did  they  ever  stay  out  when  she  did 
not  wish  to  ? 

And  she  did  rub  out  Cricket's  examples,  often 
and  often. 

"  Cricket  was  so  quick,"  she  argued,  with  her 
conscience,  "  and  she  could  do  them  right  over, 
and  she  did  n't  like  to  get  behind  herself. 
Cricket  was  such  a  silly,  not  to  guess  it." 
And  why  should  n't  she  take  the  biggest  of 
anything?  One  of  them  had  to  have  it,  and 
she  was  the  oldest.  Still,  she  remembered, 
with  another  faint  sting  of  conscience,  she 
did  n't  like  it  when  Eunice  took  things  for  the 
same  reason,  and  Cricket  had  to  yield  to  them 
both. 

Had  Cricket  ever  been  heard  telling  the  twins 
they  must  do  certain  things  because  they  were 
younger  ? 

Hilda  began  to  feel  very  queerly.  She  was 
so  used  to  praise  and  petting,  that  the  plain 
speeches  she  had  heard  had  almost  taken  her 
breath  away,  true  though  they  were.  Cricket 
was  always  being  lectured,  because  she  was 
careless  and  disorderly,  and  heedless  and  for- 
getful, and  Hilda  had  always  felt  superior. 


30  CRICKET. 

But  was  she  really  horrid?  was  she  hateful? 
was  she  selfish  ?  was  she  a  sneak  ? 

"Mamma  doesn't  think  so,  anyway,"  she 
said,  with  a  little  sob.  But  it  was  that  very 
morning,  when  she  asked  permission  to  go  and 
see  Cricket,  that  her  mother  had  hesitated,  and 
said,  — 

"  I  thought  perhaps  you  would  be  willing  to 
stay  at  home  this  morning,  darling.  My  head 
aches  badly,  and  poor,  sick  grandmamma  says 
she  has  scarcely  seen  her  little  girl  this  week." 

But  Hilda  looked  so  abused  that  her  mother 
hastened  to  add, — 

"  Never  mind,  dear,  go  on  and  have  a  good 
time,  but  I  would  like  you  to  come  home  to 
lunch;"  and  the  little  girl  had  neglected  her 
mother's  words,  as  of  no  importance. 

It  was  a  very  sober,  subdued  Hilda,  who, 
much  later,  slipped  quietly  into  the  house. 

Her  mother  had  been  in  bed  all  day,  with  one 
of  her  worst  headaches,  the  maid  said,  and  she 
herself  had  been  sitting  with  grandmamma,  and 
reading  to  her,  for  the  old  lady  felt  very  lonely. 
Hilda  winced  as  she  thought  of  that  hard,  rasp- 
ing voice  reading  to  an  invalid. 

Mrs.  Mason  heard  her  little  girl's  voice  and 


THE    QUAKREL.  31 

spoke  to  her,  and  Hilda  crept  quietly  into  her 
mother's  room.  She  knew,  well  enough,  that 
her  little  soft  fingers  had  magic  power  to  drive 
away  mamma's  nervous  headaches,  but  usually 
it  was  "  such  a  bother "  to  sit  in  the  darkened 
room,  that  often,  as  she  now  guiltily  remem- 
bered, she  had  slipped  away,  when  she  knew 
mamma  had  a  headache,  lest  she  should  be 
asked  to  do  it.  Oh,  she  was  a  selfish,  selfish 
Hilda! 

That  night,  when  her  head  was  better, 
mamma  and  Hilda  had  a  long  talk.  The  whole 
story  came  out,  and  Hilda  confessed  that  she 
believed  that  she  was  the  horridest,  selfishest 
girl  in  the  whole  town.  And  her  mother's 
tears  fell  quietly  and  fast,  as  she  realized,  for 
the  first  time,  how  she  had  been  spoiling  her 
darling.  Because  her  little  daughter  was  dainty 
and  orderly,  and  sweet  and  polite,  she  had  been 
ruining  her  with  too  much  praise,  and  letting 
her  grow  up  selfish  and  inconsiderate. 

"  We  will  both  begin  again,  my  little  girl," 
she  said,  holding  Hilda  close.  "  And  to  begin 
with,  do  you  know  you  ought  to  tell  Cricket  you 
are  sorry  ?  " 

"  Oh,  mamma,  I  can't  —  oh,  I  carft !  I 
should  n't  know  anything  what  to  say." 


32  CRICKET. 

"  It  is  the  only  honourable  thing  to  do, 
darling.  You  have  been  much  to  blame.  I 
will  tell  Cricket  for  you,  if  you  like.  She  is  a 
dear  little  girl,  and  I  'm  sure  she  will  forgive 
you  and  love  you  just  the  same."  Nevertheless. 
Hilda  could  not  quite  make  up  her  mind,  that 
night,  to  take  this  step. 

The  next  Monday  she  started  off,  very  soberly 
and  unhappily,  for  school.  As  she  turned  into 
the  lane,  however,  she  saw  a  familiar  little  red 
dress  fluttering  by  the  hedge,  and  in  a  moment 
Cricket  came  in  view.  Both  little  girls  stopped 
and  looked  at  each  other  shyly  for  a  moment. 
Cricket  spoke  first. 

"  Mamma  says  I  was  very  rude  to  you,"  she 
began,  very  soberly,  but  Hilda  ran  up  to  her, 
impulsively,  and  threw  both  her  arms  around 
her  neck. 

"  I  was  rude  and  horrid,  Cricket,-  and  I  did 
rub  out  your  sums,  and  I  've  teased  the  children, 
and  I  've  torn  up  your  jography  questions  often 
and  often ;  and  I  should  think  you  'd  hate  me." 
Hilda  said  all  this  in  a  breath. 

Cricket  looked  too  astonished  to  speak. 

"  Oh,  please,  Cricket,  forgive  me,  and  love  me 
just  the  same,  and  we  '11  always  buy  marsh- 


THE    QUARREL.  33 

mallows,  for  I  like  them  pretty  well,  and  it 
doesn't  make  any  difference  if  I  don't!  "  finished 
Hilda,  very  much  mixed  up,  but  very  much 
iii  earnest. 

But  Cricket,  while  she  did  not  quite  under- 
stand all  Hilda  meant,  was,  nevertheless,  only 
too  glad  to  kiss  and  make  friends,  and  so  their 
quarrel  was  made  up. 


CHAPTER  III. 

DAMMING   THE    BROOK. 

ONE  bright  May  morning  three  little  maids 
sat  perched  on  the  topmost  rail  of  an  old  fence 
down  by  the  brook.  It  was  very  pleasant  just 
at  that  particular  spot,  where  the  tiny  stream 
babbled  along  gayly  in  its  wide,  deep  bed. 
There  was  only  a  ribbon  of  water  there  now, 
though  early  in  the  spring  the  current  ran  full 
and  strong.  The  trees  in  the  neighbouring 
woods  waved  and  nodded  their  heads  in  cordial 
welcome  to  their  constant  little  visitors. 

This  was  a  favourite  spot  with  these  little 
people,  for  they  were  well  out  of  sight  of  the 
rest  of  the  world.  The  lane  curved  around  the 
hill  which  was  behind  them,  wound  over  the 
rustic  bridge,  and  lost  itself  in  the  green  woods 
on  the  other  side.  Below  them  were  the 
meadows,  where  loads  of  "  roosters " —  as 
country  children  call  the  sweet  little  white 
violets  —  grew  in  abundance. 

There  sat  the  three  little  maids,  I  say,  swing- 


DAMMING   THE   BROOK.  85 

ing  their  black-stockinged  legs,  and  nodding 
their  three  heads,  black,  brown  and  golden, 
keeping  time  to  the  clatter  of  their  busy 
tongues. 

There  was  so  much  to  talk  about,  you  see, 
for  Hilda's  mamma  had  promised  her  that  she 
might  have  all  her  little  friends  come  to  supper 
next  week,  to  celebrate  her  eleventh  birthday. 
Of  course  they  had  to  arrange  about  the  invita- 
tions and  the  amusements. 

At  last  Cricket's  active  body  tired  of  being 
still  so  long,  and  she  began  to  look  around  for 
exercise,  for  she  had  been  sitting  there  for  quite 
fifteen  minutes.  She  edged  along  on  her  some- 
what unsteady  seat,  when  suddenly  the  treacher- 
ous rail  turned  completely  over,  and  laid  her  on 
her  back  in  the  soft  meadow  grass.  Hilda  and 
Eunice  shouted  with  laughter,  for  such  an  acci- 
dent was  so  like  Cricket ;  but  the  little  girl,  not 
in  the  least  troubled,  picked  herself  up.  To  be 
sure,  there  was  a  jagged  tear  in  her  fresh,  blue 
gingham,  and  a  great  grass-stain  on  it,  as  well, 
but  these  were  every-day  affairs. 

She  jumped  over  the  fence  and  sat  down  on 
the  end  of  the  wooden  bridge,  which  crossed  the 
road,  with  her  feet  hanging  over  the  water,  idly 


36  CKICKET. 

dropping  pebbles  down.  Presently  this  inspired 
her  with  a  new  idea. 

"Oh,  girls!"  she  exclaimed,  "let's  dam  up 
the  brook ! " 

This  proposal  immediately  met  with  the 
greatest  favor.  Hilda  and  Eunice  jumped 
briskly  down,  and  Cricket  jumped  briskly  up. 
The  stone  wall  along  the  road  supplied  them 
with  material,  and  they  fell  energetically  to  work. 

Back  and  forth  they  went  like  little  beavers, 
carrying  stones  instead  of  wood.  They  stood  at 
the  end  of  the  bridge,  and  dropped  the  stones 
down,  splash,  just  in  the  right  place.  It  was 
great  fun,  tugging  at  the  stones  from  the  wall, 
finding  the  loose  ones  they  could  take,  without 
leaving  too  large  a  space ;  or  pulling  out  the 
wrong  one,  and  bringing  half  a  dozen  more 
rattling  about  their  feet,  so  that  they  had  to 
jump,  screaming,  out  of  the  way.  Then  they 
must  tug  and  strain  to  roll  them  up  the  bank  to 
the  lane,  and  then  on  to  the  bridge,  and  over 
into  the  stream. 

Being,  as  I  said,  a  lonely,  out-of-the-way  place, 
it  happened  that  no  one  passed  to  notice  the 
mischief  the  children  were  doing.  So  they 
worked  away  undisturbed. 


DAMMING   THE    BROOK.  37 

They  lifted  stones  that  were  twice  the  size  of 
their  own  heads,  quite  scorning  the  little  ones, 
excepting  to  fill  in  with.  When  they  presently 
paused  to  take  breath  and  to  survey  their  work, 
the  stones  lay  closely  packed  together  from  side . 
to  side,  and  the  water  was  deepening  fast. 
Panting  and  quite  tired  out,  they  threw  them- 
selves on  the  grassy  bank  to  rest. 

"  I  'm  glad,"  sighed  Cricket,  "  that  I  'm  not  a 
dammer  by  trade." 

"If  you  were,"  said  Eunice,  wisely,  "you 
would  be  a  strong  man,  and  then  it  would  not 
be  hard  work." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do,  girls,  when  you're 
grown  up  ?  "  asked  Hilda. 

"  I  know,"  answered  Cricket,  promptly ;  "  I 
thought  of  it  last  night.  I'm  going  to  write 
hymns  for  the  missionaries,  and  p'raps  I'll  be 
a  missionary  myself.  Anyway,  I  'd  like  to  go 
to  Africa  and  have  all  the  bananas  I  could  eat, 
for  once." 

"  I  won't  be  a  missionary,"  returned  Hilda, 
with  decision.  "  I  don't  want  to  go  to  Africa. 
'Horrid  old  skeeters  and  things,  and  cannibals  to 
eat  you  up. " 

"  I'd  convert  them.  That 's  what  missionaries 
are  for,"  answered  Cricket,  serenely. 


38  CRICKET. 

"  But  you  would  n't  get  a  chance,"  persisted 
Hilda.  "  They  'd  catch  you  and  kill  you  and 
eat  you  up  just  as  quick.  You'd  be  in  some- 
body's stomach  before  you  could  say  Jack  Rob- 
inson." 

"  But  hymm,  Cricket,"  said  Eunice,  who  had 
been  meditating  over  the  word,  rather  overcome 
by  the  ambition  of  her  younger  sister.  "  Would 
you  write  hymns  like  those  in  the  hymn- 
book?" 

"  Yes.  Of  course  they  might  not  be  quite  so 
good  just  at  first,  but  I  could  practise.  I  made 
up  one  last  night.  Do  you  want  to  hear  it? 
It 's  rather  long." 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  cried  both  the  others,  much 


And  Cricket  cleared  her  throat,  and  began  : — 

"  A  big,  black  cannibal  lived  by  the  sea, 
And  he  was  black  as  he  could  be, 
And  he  ate  up  children,  one,  two,  three. 

"  One  day  he  found  a  little  child, 
A  little  white  one,  meek  and  mild, 
And  the  little  boy  looked  up  and  smiled. 

"  '  Oh,  don't  you  know  it 's  wrong,'  said  he, 
<  To  eat  a  little  child  like  me? 
And  God  won't  love  you  then,  you  see. 


DAMMING   THE   BROOK.  39 

"  '  And  don't  you  know  if  you  're  not  good, 
And  don't  do  everything  you  should, 
And  eat  up  children  in  the  wood, 

"  <  You  will  not  then  to  Heaven  go, 
But  you  will  suffer  down  below, 
And  wonder  why  you  did  do  so  ? ' 

"  The  cannibal  was  softened  through, 
And  said  to  him,  «  Forgive  me,  do, 
And  I  will  go  to  Heaven  with  you.' 

"  Tf  little  children  only  knew 
All  the  good  that  they  could  do, 
They  'd  be  missionaries,  too." 

"  Oh,  it 's  lovely  ! "  exclaimed  both  little  girls, 
as  Cricket  finished  her  very  rapid  recitation. 
"  Cricket !  how  could  you  make  that  all  up  ?  " 
"  Some    parts   of    it   were,    hard,"    answered 
Cricket,  modestly.     "  I  could  n't  get  the  rhymes 
right  at  first,  and  I  had  to  change  it  some.     I 
wanted  to  say  — 

"  The  cannibal  fell  on  his  knees, 
And  said  to  him,  '  Forgive  me,  please,' " 

but  I  could  n't  think  of  another  rhyme  to  match 
it." 

"  Well,  it 's  beautiful,"  said  Eunice,  drawing 
a  long  breath  of  admiration. 


40  CRICKET. 

"Aren't  you  rested  now?"  asked  Cricket, 
jumping  up.  "  Let 's  dump  some  more  stones 
over.  Oh  —  oh !  look  at  the  brook  ! " 

They  had  been  resting  for  half  an  hour, 
under  a  tree,  with  their  backs  to  the  brook. 
Now,  as  they  approached  it,  they  were  amazed 
to  see  how  much  their  work  had  deepened  the 
water.  Instead  of  a  narrow  trickle  that  they 
could  easily  jump  over,  it  had  widened  to  a  deep 
pool  just  above  the  stones. 

"Oh-h!"  squealed  the  children,  in  delight. 
Cricket  plunged  forward  to  plug  up  a  tiny  little 
hole  in  their  dam.  Of  course  she  stepped  on  an 
insecure  stone,  and  of  course,  in  attempting  to 
get  her  balance,  she  stumbled  forward,  and 
stepped  into  the  water  up  to  her  knees. 

"There;  I  knew  Cricket  would  do  that,"  said 
Hilda,  calmly. 

Cricket  scrambled  out. 

"  My  feet  are  wet,"  she  remarked,  with  much 
surprise.  Both  the  other  girls  shouted  with 
laughter. 

"  Did  you  think  the  water  was  n't  wet  ? " 
asked  Hilda. 

Going  home  for  dry  stockings  and  shoes 
never  occurred  to  Cricket.  It  would  have  been 


DAMMING    THE    BROOK.  41 

altogether  too  much  trouble.  She  pulled  off 
her  soaked  shoes  and  stockings,  and  spread  them 
on  a  sunny  stone  to  dry,  and  danced  around  in 
her  little  bare  feet. 

But  the  stones  hurt  her  tender  skin,  and  the 
hot  sand  blistered  it.  So  she  sat  down  on  the 
bank,  further  up,  and  dabbled  her  feet  in  the  clear, 
running  water.  The  others  immediately  desired 
to  follow  suit,  when  Cricket  "  set  the  Psalm,"  as 
their  old  nurse  used  to  say,  and  in  a  few  min- 
utes six  little  bare  feet  were  paddling  about. 

"  It 's  very  strange,"  said  Cricket,  at  last,  after 
a  brief  fit  of  silence,  "  that  Eunice  never  falls  in 
the  water,  nor  tears  her  clothes,  nor  anything. 
I  b'lieve  my  mother  'd  just  think  herself  in  luck 
if  she  had  two  like  you,  'stead  of  me.  I  'm  the 
most  misfortunate  girl  always." 

Eunice  was  a  careful  little  giri,  and  not  nearly 
so  much  of  a  romp  as  Cricket  was.  She  seldom 
did  have  the  accidents  that  so  constantly  befel 
her  heedless  little  sister. 

"  You  do  so  many  more  things  than  I  do," 
Eunice  hastened  to  explain.  "  You  do  things 
that  I'm  afraid  to  do." 

"  I  'm  afraid  this  minute,"  remarked  Hilda. 

"  Afraid !  why,  what  of  ?  "  exclaimed  both  the 
others,  in  chorus. 


42  CRICKET. 

"  'Fraid  we  've  got  to  go  home.  It 's  twelve 
o'clock,  for  there 's  the  whistle." 

"  Oh,  is  that  all !  I  thought  you  must  have 
seen  a  snake,  at  least,"  laughed  Cricket,  draw- 
ing on  her  damp  stockings  and  stiff  shoes. 
"  Ugh !  these  stockings  feel  just  like  frogs." 

"  We  must  come  back  to-morrow,"  said  Hilda, 
as  they  trudged  off,  "and  see  how  deep  this 
water  is,  and  we  will  get  some  boards  and  make 
a  raft,  and  have  piles  of  fun." 


CHAPTER   IV. 

THE    COXSEQUENCES. 

Bur  both  Monday  and  Tuesday  were  unfavour- 
able for  nautical  adventures,  for  they  brought  a 
driving,  pouring  rain.  Wednesday  was  too  damp 
for  them  to  go  to  the  meadows  at  all,  and  on 
Thursday  came  the  famous  birthday  party.  So 
it  happened  that  their  dam  was  forgotten  till 
Saturday,  when  they  turned  their  steps  brook- 
Ward. 

"  Oh,  look  at  the  water ! "  they  cried,  in  one 
breath,  as  they  came  around  the  curve.  They 
could  hardly  believe  their  eyes,  for  a  wide,  deep 
stream  filled  the  bed  from  side  to  side.  The 
combination  of  the  heavy  rains  with  their  dam 
had  worked  wonders. 

"  See  the  water  roll  over  the  dam,  girls !  it  'o 
just  like  the  mill-dam,"  exclaimed  Cricket. 
"Let's  roll  more  stones  down  and  make  a 
bigger  one  still." 

So,  with  eager  hands,  they  got  great  stones 
again,  lugging  them  from  their  places  in  the 


44  CRICKET. 

stone-wall  with  infinite  toil.  They  balanced 
them  on  the  edge  of  the  bridge,  and  counting, 
"One, —  two, —  three, —  go !  "  They  each  pushed 
over  one,  jumping  and  screaming  with  delight, 
at  the  tremendous  splashes,  as  the  water  flew  up, 
spattering  them  well. 

"Ow — ow!  there  goes  my  hat!"  It  was 
Cricket's  wail  of  anguish,  of  course.  Her  next- 
to-her-best  white  Leghorn,  it  was  too,  for  her 
every-day  hat  had  come  to  grief  through  Dixie's 
chewing  off  her  ribbons,  and  was  laid  up  for 
repairs.  There  lay  the  pretty  broad-brim, 
caught  right  on  one  of  those  big  stones,  with 
the  water  lapping  all  around  it.  Vainly  they 
ran  down  to  the  side  of  the  bridge  and  tried  to 
reach  it.  It  was  too  near  the  middle.  The 
water  was  already  so  deep  and  black  that  they 
hesitated  to  wade  in  for  it. 

"  Perhaps  we  can  get  a  stick  and  reach  it," 
suggested  Hilda.  They  accordingly  broke  long 
sticks  from  the  bushes  near  by,  and  then 
Cricket  lay  flat  down  on  the  bridge,  with  her 
head  and  arms  hanging  over,  and  tried  to  reach 
the  unfortunate  hat. 

"  I  can't  quite  do  it,"  she  panted.  "  You  hold 
on  to  my  legs,  Eunice,  while  I  lean  over  a  little 


THE    CONSEQUENCES.  46 

further,  and,  Hilda,  you  catch  it  with  your  stick 
at  the  side,  when  I  poke  it  over  there." 

So  Eunice  clung  to  Cricket's  legs  with  all  her 
might,  while  Cricket,  fully  half  over  the  bridge, 
made  desperate  lunges;  at  last  she  was  suc- 
cessful. 

"  There  it  goes !  now,  catch  it,  Hilda ! "  tri- 
umphant and  breathless. 

Just  at  this  critical  moment  there  rose  sud- 
denly a  tremendous  shout  from  the  woods. 

"  Hi !  hi !  I  've  caught  ye,  ye  young  rogues ! 
I'll  teach  ye  a  lesson,  a-dammin'  up  my  brooks 
and  a-swampin'  my  medders,  and  a-drownin' 
my  caows  !  I  '11  hev  the  law  on  ye !  " 

Fright  and  terror !  What  awful  words  were 
these?  Cricket  hung,  paralyzed,  over  the 
bridge,  and  Eunice  clung  to  her  black-stock- 
inged legs,  'with  fingers  that  made  black  and 
blue  spots  in  the  tender  flesh.  Hilda,  poised  on 
two  uncertain  stones,  stood  like  a  small  Colos- 
sus, and  all  of  them  were  white  with  terror,  for 
an  awful,  great,  big,  blue-bloused  man  was 
getting  over  the  fence,  with,  oh,  horror,  a  gun 
on  his  shoulder,  and  a  slovenly  bull-dog  tagging 
at  his  heels ! 

"  I  've  been   a-watchin'  for  ye,  since  a  long 


46  CRICKET. 

time  back,"  the  man  said,  leisurely  coming 
nearer,  seeing  that  the  children  were  too  fright- 
ened to  run  away.  "  I  'm  not  a-goin'  to  eat  yer, 
but  I  want  to  know  what  in  thunder  you're  allers 
up  to  mischief  for.  Yer's  the  doctor's  gal,"  he 
went  on,  addressing  Cricket,  "  and  yer  a  limb." 

Cricket  drew  herself  up  on  to  the  bridge. 
They  recognized  the  man  now  as  a  farmer  in  the 
neighbourhood,  a  gruff  old  fellow,  whom  all  the 
children  feared.  They  quaked  still  more  with 
fright. 

"  Now  I  '11  tell  yer,  young  uns,  I  could  hev  the 
law  on  ye  all  for  this  flew-doodle-um  of  yourn, 
and  I  ain't  sure,  —  I  —  ain't  —  sure,  I  ain't 
a-goin'  ter.  Now,  what  hev  ye  got  to  say  fer 
yourselves  why  I  should  n't  ? " 

"  We  did  n't  know  we  were  doing  any  mis- 
chief," faltered  Cricket,  really  conscience-smit- 
ten, as  well  as  frightened. 

"  Mischief ! "  growled  the  farmer,  "  when 
ain't  ye  young  'uns  in  mischief  ?  I  'm  goin'  to 
hev  ye  all  in  the  lock-up." 

"Oh,  please,  please,  Mr.  Trante,"  cried 
Cricket,  in  mortal  terror.  «  If  we  've  done  any 
mischief,  please  ask  my  father  to  pay  you  for  it, 
but  oh,  don't  put  us  in  the  lock-up  ! " 


THE    CONSEQUENCES.  47 

"  Wai,  I  dunno  but  I  re'lly  orter,"  said  Mr. 
Trante,  enjoying  their  terror. 

"  See  all  the  damage  ye  've  done.  Las'  Sun- 
day I  was  a-strollin'  round  my  medder,  up 
yander"  -—  pointing  up  beyond  where  the  white 
violets  grew  —  "an'  I  see  it  was  all  soft  an 
sorter  soggy,  by  the  bank,  and  the  brook  was  a 
considderbal  wider.  I  kinder  wondered  at  that, 
seein'  as  we  had  n't  hed  no  rain  for  quite  a 
spell  then.  Ev'ry  night  this  week  the  caows 
kep'  a-comin'  home  all  wet  to  their  knees,  an' 
las'  night  the  boy  brung  'em  in,  and  says  he, 
'the  medder 's  all  a-swimming,  and  the  caows 
has  stayed  up  into  the  woods  all  day.'  It  did  n't 
seem  nateral  that  the  rain  could  ha'  did  all  thet, 
so  this  mornin'  I  sot  out  to  explore,  an'  I  found 
this  big  dam  o'  yourn.  I  hed  a  big  mornin's 
work,  so  I  hed  to  leave  it  till  this  afternoon. 
I  re'lly  orter  make  ye  take  'em  out  yerselves." 

"  I  don't  believe  we  could,"  answered  Cricket, 
doubtfully.  Then  she  brightened  up. 

"  But  I  '11  ask  papa  to  send  Thomas  to-morrow 
morning  to  help  you.  I  'm  so  sorry  about  the 
cows,  Mr.  Trante,  and  getting  the  meadow  so 
wet.  We  never  thought.  Will  it  ever  dry  up 
again  ?  "  she  asked,  anxiously. 


48  CEICKET. 

"  Wall,  I  guess  the  medder  '11  dry  up,  if  you 
give  it  a  chance,"  the  farmer  answered,  grimly. 
"  How  did  you  young  rogues  roll  up  all  them 
big  stones,  tearin'  down  my  stone  walls  ?  Look 
at  them  big  holes ! " 

Three  shame -faced  children  looked  more 
downcast  than  ever  at  this  new  view  of  their 
mischief. 

"  I'll  ask  papa  to  pay  you  for  all  the  trouble 
we've  made,"  repeated  Cricket. 

"  Wai,  I  dunno  how  I  could  put  a  money  vally 
on  it,  skursely,"  growled  the  man,  "  but  I  '11  see 
your  pa.  An'  about  the  lock-up.  Ef  you'll 
promise  me  not  to  go  a-dammin'  up  no  more 
streams,  not  even  little  dribblin'  things  like  that 
'un  there  was,  mebbe  I  '11  let  ye  off  this  time." 

"  Oh,  we  promise ! "  cried  the  three,  fervently, 
while  their  hearts  danced  jigs  of  joy  at  their 
escape. 

"  An'  tell  yer  pa  to  send  Thomas  over  in  the 
morning  at  seven  o'clock  sharp,  an'  I  an'  he  '11 
work  at  them  stuns  a  spell.  Looks  like  it  would 
be  considerable  of  a  chore  to  hist  'em  out,"  said 
Mr.  Trante,  looking  at  the  stones,  through  one 
eye. 

"  Come,  Bruiser,"  he  went  on,  "  you  an'  me 's 


THE   CONSEQUENCES.  49 

a-gom  lur  the  caows  now.  Ye  kin  go  home, 
young  'iins,  and  don't  do  no  more  damage  than 
ye  kin  help  a-doin',  while  ye  're  going  thar ;"  and 
three  very  subdued-looking  children  immediately 
took  advantage  of  his  permission  to  disappear 
around  the  curve. 

The  next  day  Thomas  told  Dr.  Ward  that  he 
had  had  the  hardest  half-day's  work  he  had  done 
in  one  while. 

"  Them  crazy  young  'uns  will  be  the  death  o' 
me,"  he  grumbled.  "  Me  an'  Dan' el  Trante 
worked  up  'ards  of  half  a  day  to  ease  them  stuns 
up.  An'  the  next  time  they  go  to  dammin'  UD 
creeks,  I  'low  they  better  do  suthin'  else  with  the 
time." 

And  the  children  concluded  they  would. 


CHAPTER  Y. 

FOUKTH    OP  JULY. 

OF  course,  with  such  a  troop  of  children  as 
there  was  at  Kayuna,  Fourth  of  July  was  a 
wildly  exciting  time.  They  were  always  up  at 
unearthly  hours  in  the  morning,  and  used  up,  be- 
fore breakfast,  an  immense  supply  of  giant  tor- 
pedoes and  fire-crackers,  by  way  of  opening  the 
day.  Later,  they  were  allowed  free  range  of  the 
back-kitchen,  in  order  that  they  might  carry  out, 
all  by  themselves,  the  grand  performance  of  the 
day.  This  was  making  and  freezing  a  great  can 
of  ice-cream,  with  no  interference,  even  to  the 
extent  of  a  suggestion,  from  the  cook.  This 
was  always  eaten  by  the  assembled  family,  on  the 
piazza,  at  five  in  the  afternoon. 

In  the  evening  all  the  people  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood gathered  on  the  piazza  and  lawn,  to 
see  the  display  of  a  great  quantity  of  fireworks, 
which  Dr.  Ward  always  had  sent  out  from  town. 
So  they  wound  up  the  Glorious  Fourth  in  a  very 
patriotic  manner. 


FOURTH   OF   JULY.  51 

It  was  really  very  good-natured  of  Dr.  Ward 
to  allow  the  display  on  his  grounds,  for  it  always 
took  Thomas  and  one  of  the  other  men  all  the 
next  day  to  take  away  the  de'bris,  clear  up  the 
lawn,  and  restore  things  to  their  usual  trim 
order. 

This  particular  Fourth  really  began  the  night 
before. 

Hilda  Mason  had  been  invited  to  come  and 
spend  the  night  with  Cricket  and  Eunice,  in  order 
to  be  on  hand  in  the  morning.  It  was  barely 
dark  when  the  three  children  decided  it  was 
quite  time  to  go  to  bed,  in  order  to  shorten  the 
long  hours  that  stretched  before  to-morrow  morn- 
ing. Nurse  had  put  up  a  cot  in  Cricket's  room 
for  Hilda,  close  beside  the  larger  bed,  so  it  was 
quite  like  sleeping  all  together. 

They  were  far  too  much  excited  to  settle 
down  very  soon,  especially  as  it  was  earlier  than 
their  usual  bed-time,  so  they  frolicked  and  built 
tents  of  the  sheets,  and  ended  up  with  a  game  of 
tag  around  the  foot-board.  But  this  speedily 
brought  Eliza  to  the  scene,  with  a  very  peremp- 
tory order  "to  go  to  sleep,  and  not  disturb 
everybody  in  the  house  with  their  jim-jams." 

Thus   commanded,  and  being  tired  by  this 


52  CRICKET. 

time,  they  were  quite  ready  to  subside,  and  very 
soon,  after  numberless  "good-nights"  and 
"  don't  you  wish  it  was  to-morrows,"  they  settled 
down. 

Cricket  woke  first.  The  room  was  already 
beginning  to  grow  light. 

"  Oh,  girls,  girls  ! "  she  cried,  scrambling  out 
of  bed.  "  We  've  overslept,  I  know.  There  's 
,the  sun  rising  now."  There  certainly  was  light 
behind  the  trees,  as  she  looked  from  the  east 
windows. 

"  Funny  we  don't  hear  the  boys,"  said  Eunice, 
sitting  up  and  trying  to  rub  the  sleep  out  of  her 
eyes.  "I'm  awful  sleepy  —  seems  as  if  we'd 
just  gone  to  bed." 

"  I  should  say  it  did.  How  quiet  everything 
seems.  Hilda,  wake  up !  it 's  morning." 

"I  don't  care,"  returned  Hilda,  sleepily, 
turning  over. 

"  But  it 's  Fourth  of  July  !  Do  get  up  !  We 
want  to  get  ahead  of  the  boys."  For  two  boy 
cousins,  Will  and  Archie  Somers,  were  visiting 
them. 

"  Oh,  dear !  "  yawned  Hilda,  who  was  always  a 
sleepy  head.  "  I  think  I  'd  rather  not  have  any 
Fourth  of  July." 


FOURTH   OF   JULY.  53 

"  But  the  Fourth 's  here,  and  we  've  got  to 
have  it ! "  said  Cricket,  pulling  the  sheet  from 
under  Hilda.  "  Get  up,  you  lazy  girl.  I  'm 
all  dressed."  For  Cricket  dressed  as  she  did 
everything  else,  "  like  a  streak  of  greased  light- 
ning," as  Donald  said. 

"  Oh,  I  'm  getting  up !  "  and  Hilda  turned  out 
reluctantly. 

"  I  'm  going  to  the  boys'  door,  while  you  're 
finishing,"  said  Cricket.  "  I  '11  be  back  in  a 
minute."  She  slipped  out  into  the  hall,  as  still 
as  a  mouse.  It  was  very  dark  out  there,  and 
she  had  to  feel  her  way  along. 

Suddenly,  ahead  of  her,  came  a  glimmer  of 
light,  and  a  tall,  white  figure  appeared,  that 
startled  Cricket  so  that  she  turned,  with  a 
scream,  to  run  back.  It  was  only  Eliza,  who, 
aroused  by  the  children's  voices,  was  coming 
from  the  nursery  to  see  what  was  the  matter, 
but  Cricket  was  blinded  by  the  sudden  light,  so 
that  she  did  not  recognize,  her.  She  lost  her 
bearings,  turned  to  the  left  instead  of  the  right, 
and  the  next  moment  she  was  plunging  head- 
foremost down  the  stairs,  with  a  crash  that  in 
two  minutes  assembled  a  white-clad  house- 
hold. 


54  CKICKET. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ? "  asked  everybody, 
hurriedly,  of  everybody  else. 

Doctor  Ward  sprang  down  the  staircase  to 
investigate.  At  the  bottom  lay  a  little  heap. 

"  Cricket ! "  he  exclaimed,  with  his  heart  in 
his  mouth. 

"  I  guess  I  'm  all  right,  papa,"  came  a  scared 
little  voice  from  the  heap,  "  but  I  don't  know, 
'xactly,  where  I  am." 

Her  father  lifted  her  up,  and  felt  of  her  arms 
and  legs. 

"  No  bones  broken.  Is  your  back  all  right  ? 
and  your  head  ?  In  the  name  of  common-sense, 
child,  what  are  you  doing  around  the  house,  all 
dressed,  at  midnight?" 

"  Why,  it 's  morning,"  said  Eunice  and  Hilda 
together,  who,  with  the  others,  had  gathered  at 
the  foot  of  the  stairs,  everybody  asking  questions 
and  talking  at  once. 

"  It 's  morning,  and  it 's  the  Fourth  of  July," 
explained  Eunice,  "and  we  got  up,  and  Cricket 
was  going  to  wake  the  boys,  and  get  a  rise  out 
of  them.  Is  Cricket  hurt  ?  " 

The  doctor  was  still  feeling  Cricket's  back, 
and  her  mamma  was  rubbing  her  hands  anx- 
iously, but  they  all  laughed  at  Eunice's  explana- 
tion. 


FOURTH   OF   JULY.  55 

"  Morning,  dear  child  ?  It 's  just  ten  minutes 
of  twelve,"  she  answered,  looking  at  the  tall  hall 
clock.  "  Just  midnight." 

"  Midnight !  "  cried  all  the  three  girls,  incred- 
ulously. "We  saw  the  sun  rising,  anyway," 
said  Hilda,  bewildered. 

"  The  moon,  you  mean,"  said  the  doctor, 
laughing. 

"  You  're  sure  you  're  not  hurt,  darling  ?  "  he 
added.  "  Well,  since  Cricket  is  not  killed,  it 
proves  to  be  a  good  joke." 

"She  must  be  hurt  somewhere,"  persisted 
mamma,  still  anxiously.  "  How  could  a  child 
go  head-foremost  down  stairs  and  not  be  hurt  ?  " 

"  Nobody  could  but  Cricket,"  said  her  father, 
kissing  her ;  "  but  I  am  coming  to  the  conclusion 
that  this  young  woman  is  not  built  of  ordinary 
human  material,  but  on  the  principle  of  in- 
destructible dolls.  She  always  comes  right  side 
up  with  care." 

"I  thought  I  was  killed  just  at  first,"  said 
Cricket,  sitting  up  straight  on  her  father's  knee, 
and  still  looking  bewildered,  "  for  the  house 
seemed  just  to  open  and  let  me  down,  and  the 
first  thing  I  knew,  papa  was  calling  '  Cricket.'  " 

"  But  now,"  said  mamma,  "  since  nobody  is 


56  CRICKET. 

seriously  injured,  you  children  may  go  back  to 
bed  and  sleep  quietly  —  if  you  can  —  the  rest  of 
the  night.  And  remember  that  you  must  not 
one  of  you  get  up  in  the  morning  till  you  are 
called.  That's  the  only  safe  way.  Eliza  will 
call  you  at  five  o'clock,  and  you  must  not  stir 
till  then." 

In  view  of  the  circumstances,  the  children 
were  quite  willing  to  promise  this,  and  soon 
quiet  reigned  again. 

It  was  broad  daylight  in  good  earnest  when 
the  children  opened  their  eyes  next,  in  response 
to  Eliza's  call.  Their  night's  experience 
seemed  very  far  away  in  the  light  of  day.  The 
boys  were  already  up  and  out,  and  were  firing 
torpedoes  at  the  girls'  windows.  Cricket  felt 
a  little  stiff  and  lame  at  first,  but  that  soon 
wore  off.  She  really  did  seem  to  be  of  some 
material  unlike  other  children,  for  her  constant 
accidents  rarely  disabled  her,  and  she  seldom 
had  even  a  bad  scar.  When  she  nearly  cut  her 
finger  off  in  the  hay-cutter  once,  so  that  it  hung 
by  a  thread  of  skin,  she  clapped  it  on  and  ran  to 
her  father,  and  it  grew  together  like  two  pieces 
of  melted  wax.  Deep  cuts  healed  as  if  made  in 
soft  pitch.  She  had  fallen  from  innumerable 


CELKBHAT1NG    THE    FOURTH    OF    JULY. 


FOURTH   OF   JULY.  59 

trees,  and  would  come  crashing  through  the 
branches,  and  land  on  the  ground,  stunned  for  a 
moment,  perhaps,  but  with  no  further  injuries. 
She  was  very  slightly  built,  without  an  ounce  of 
superfluous  flesh  on  her  slender  bones,  and  she 
was  very  agile  and  flexible.  She  used  to  amuse 
her  sisters  by  sitting  on  the  ground  and  twist- 
ing both  legs  around  her  neck,  like  a  clown  in 
the  circus.  When  she  fell,  she  fell  as  a  baby 
does,  without  making  the  slightest  effort  to  save 
herself,  and  probably  this  was  the  reason  why 
she  escaped  serious  injury. 

When  the  girls  appeared,  the  boys  were 
ready  with  a  fire  of  jokes  concerning  the  mid- 
night adventures.  Archie  suggested  that  it 
would  be  a  good  plan  to  pin  a  big  label  to  the 
moon,  so  they  need  not  mistake  it  again  for 
the  sun.  Will  chanted, — 

«  The  Man  in  the  Moon 

Came  up  too  soon, 
And  waked  the  girls  too  early. 

Cricket  ran  into  the  hall 

And  got  a  great  fall, 
And  made  a  great  hurly-burly." 

Fortunately,  Cricket  did  not  mind  teasing, 
else  her  life  would  have  been  a  burden. 


60  CEICKET. 

By  breakfast  they  had  fired  off  dozens  of 
packages  of  giant-torpedoes  and  an  unlimited 
number  of  fire-crackers,  and  went  trooping  into 
the  house,  feeling,  they  said,  as  if  they  had  been 
up  for  at  least  six  weeks. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

MAKING    ICE-CREAM. 

AFTEE  breakfast  there  came  a  little  lull  in 
the  excitement.  The  edge  had  been  taken  off 
of  the  enjoyment  of  torpedoes,  by  this  time,  and 
the  delights  of  fire-crackers  palled. 

To  be  sure,  little  Kenneth  was  still  all  agog. 
In  his  small  brain  this  day  was  hopelessly  con- 
fused with  April-Fool' s-Day,  which  was  the 
latest  special  occasion  in  his  narrow  experience, 
He  ran  around  from  one  to  another,  crying  ex- 
citedly, "  Look  a-hind  you !  "  and  then  shrieked 
in  great  glee,  "Apple-fool! "  enjoying  to  the  full 
the  unfailing  surprise  of  each  person,  however 
often  he  tried  it. 

By  ten  o'clock,  however,  came  the  great 
excitement  of  the  day,  making  ice-cream  in 
the  back-kitchen.  Will  and  Archie,  and  even 
seventeen-year-old  Donald,  pounded  the  ice 
which  Thomas  had  already  put  there,  in  a  big 
tub,  while  Marjorie  measured  the  cream  and 
milk  and  put  in  the  sugar. 


62  CRICKET. 

It  seemed  to  be  part  of  the  programme  reg- 
ularly to  forget  the  flavouring  till  the  cream 
was  in  the  can  and  the  dasher  adjusted.  Then, 
at  the  last  moment,  it  would  suddenly  be  re- 
membered, and  off  must  come  the  cover,  to 
the  boys'  disgust,  with  imminent  danger  of  a 
deposit  of  salt  within,  while  the  flavouring  was 
added.  Then  they  would  find  that  they  could 
not  put  back  the  dasher  in  its  place  without 
taking  out  the  can.  So  out  would  come  the  can, 
and  the  cream  must  be  poured  out,  the  dasher 
slipped  in  place,  all  the  ice  and  salt  taken  out  of 
the  freezer,  in  order  to  put  the  can  back,  and 
the  whole  thing  repacked.  All  this  served  to 
"  vary  the  monotony,"  Donald  remarked. 

To-day,  however,  Marjorie,  who  was  chief- 
cook,  had  the  flavouring  in  her  mind  from  the 
beginning,  and  she  gave  the  cream  a  liberal 
supply  of  lemon-extract. 

"  Will  you  stir  this  for  a  moment,  please, 
Eunice,"  she  said,  as  Eunice  came  into  the 
pantry  just  then,  where  Marjorie  stood.  "  I  want 
to  speak  to  cook." 

Eunice  gave  it  a  stir,  as  Marjorie  went  out, 
and  then  bethought  herself  of  the  flavouring. 

"  We  won't  forget  it  this  time,"  she  thought. 


MAKING   ICE-CKEAM.  63 

"  I  know  Marjorie  has  not  remembered  it.  She 
never  does."  She  surveyed  the  extract-bottles 
for  a  moment. 

"  I  believe  bitter-almond  ice-cream  would  be 
nice,"  she  thought.  "  I  've  never  tasted  any, 
but  it  makes  a  nice  flavour  for  frosting  and 
cake.  I  wonder  how  much  it  takes  ?  I  guess 
half  a  bottle,  certainly,  for  all  this  cream,"  and 
in  went  the  bitter-almond,  for  Eunice  had  not 
the  vaguest  idea  of  the  necessary  quantity. 

"  Oh,  Marjorie,"  she  called,  "  I  've  just  put 
in  — 

"  Do  come  here,  Eunice,  I  don't  think  the 
boys  have  chopped  this  ice  fine  enough,  and 
they  say  it  will  do,"  interrupted  Marjorie. 
"  Cricket,  you  go  and  stir  the  cream." 

Eunice  ran  out,  thinking  to  herself,  — 

« I  won't  tell  her,  after  all,  and  she  '11  think 
she 's  forgotten  it,  as  usual." 

Cricket  took  her  turn  at  the  spoon. 

"  There,"  she  thought,  "  the  girls  never  said 
a  word  about  the  flavouring,  and  I  just  s'pose 
they  've  gone  and  forgotten  it,  as  usual.  I  '11 
put  it  in  myself,  and  just  as  they  think  they  've 
got  to  take  the  can  out,  I'  11  tell  them.  Let  me 
see.  We  always  have  lemon  or  vanilla.  Es- 


64  CRICKET. 

sence  of  wintergreen.  Wintergreen  candy  is 
lovely.  I  '11  just  put  in  some  wintergreen,"  and 
she  took  the  bottle  hastily,  after  turning  for  a 
spoon. 

"Oh!  oh!  it's  peppermint  I've  got,"  she 
exclaimed,  in  dismay,  as  the  first  spoonful 
went  into  the  mixture.  "Bah!  I  don't  like 
peppermint,  I  '11  just  put  in  an  extra  amount  of 
wintergreen  to  cover  it  up.  Cook  says  she  often 
mixes  flavours."  And  in  went  plenty  of  winter- 
green.  By  this  time  the  whole  pantry  had  a 
strong  odour  of  essences,  principally  pepper- 
mint. 

"  What  a  strong  smell ! "  said  Marjorie, 
coming  back.  "What's  the  peppermint  bottle 
doing  down  here  with  the  cork  out?"  But 
Cricket  vanished,  and  Marjorie,  concluding  that 
the  cook  had  come  in  and  used  it,  corked  it  up, 
and  put  it  back. 

"How  horribly  strong  that  peppermint  is," 
she  said,  as  she  stirred  her  cream.  "  That  bot- 
tle, just  open  for  a  moment,  has  scented  every- 
thing, or  perhaps  some  of  it  was  spilled." 

Archie  appeared  now  to  carry  out  the  cream 
to  pour  in  the  can. 

"  Whew !  peppermint !  "  he  whistled. 


MAKING   ICE-CREAM.  65 

"  Yes ;  cook  has  been  using  some  here,  and 
left  the  bottle  uncorked.  Awful,  is  n't  it  ?  " 

"  Thing  flavoured  this  time  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Master  Archie,  it  is.  I  flavoured  it 
myself,  and  it's  all  right." 

"  Good  girl.  I  shall  be  glad  to  have  some 
properly  flavoured  cream  of  our  manufacture  for 
once.  Last  year,  seems  to  me,  we  didn't  get 
any  in." 

The  freezing  of  the  cream  went  rapidly 
forward  now.  The  three  girls  made  no  re- 
marks about  the  flavouring,  each  thinking  to 
surprise  the  others  by  the  fact  the  flavouring 
had  not  been  forgotten,  after  all. 

Taking  the  can  out,  when  the  cream  was 
frozen,  removing  the  dasher,  and  the  accom- 
panying tastings,  were  all  important  features 
of  the  operation.  To-day,  however,  as  the 
critical  moment  drew  near,  mamma  came  out, 
and  said  there  were  two  wandering  minstrels  in 
Highland  dress  and  with  Scottish  bag-pipes,  in 
front  of  the  house.  Of  course  they  all  wanted 
to  go  and  see  them,  so  they  gave  the  cream 
into  cook's  charge  and  all  rushed  off.  When 
they  returned  half  an  hour  later,  they  found, 
much  to  their  disappointment,  that  the  ice-cream 


66  CRICKET. 

was  all  frozen  and  packed  in  the  moulds,  to 
stand  till  the  afternoon. 

Making  ice-cream  had  been  such  a  long 
process  that,  by  the  time  everything  was  put 
away,  a  point  mamma  always  insisted  on,  it 
was  time  to  dress  for  dinner. 

The  afternoon  was  rather  uninteresting. 
Some  one  says  that  very  early  risers  are  apt 
to  be  conceited  all  the  morning  and  stupid 
all  the  afternoon,  and  so  the  children  found 
it.  Year  after  year  they  had  the  same  ex- 
perience, but  the  twelve  months  between  de- 
stroyed the  recollection  of  everything  but  the 
excitement  of  early  morning. 

By  half-past  four,  however,  they  began  to 
brighten  up  again,  for  ice-cream  time  approached. 

This  was  the  children's  day,  and  the  rule 
was  for  them  to  wait  on  themselves,  so  for 
some  time  they  were  busy  bringing  out  plates 
and  spoons  and  doylies,  and  arranging  cakes 
and  crackers  on  the  table  on  the  piazza,  where 
the  feast  was  always  served.  Cook  took  the 
ice-cream  out  of  the  moulds  for  them,  and 
put  it  on  the  ice-cream  platter,  and  when  the 
grown-up  people  were  all  assembled  and  the 
party  was  ready,  Maggie,  smiling  broadly,  ap- 


MAKING   ICE-CREAM.  67 

peared  with  it.  The  children  all  sat  around 
with  eyes  expectant  and  mouths  watering,  for 
this  was  their  especial  and  particular  feast,  and 
entirely  unlike  the  ice-cream  that  was  served 
every  Sunday  for  dessert. 

The  cream  had  certainly  been  beautifully 
frozen,  and  looked  very  tempting  on  this  hot 
afternoon.  Marjorie  officiated  at  the  platter,  and 
distributed  the  dainty  with  a  liberal  hand. 

Mamma  tasted  her  dish,  and  set  it  down 
suddenly.  Auntie,  after  one  trial,  laid  down 
her  spoon,  and  coughed  behind  her  hand  as 
she  caught  mamma's  eye.  Two  or  three  other 
guests  present  toyed  with  their  spoons. 

"  This  is  for  you,  papa,"  Marjorie  said  then, 
"  and  it 's  a  particularly  big  dish,  because  you 
are  so  fond  of  it.  There !  is  n't  that  nice  ?  " 

"  What  under  the  canopy !  "  hastily  exclaimed 
the  doctor,  eyeing  his  dish  in  great  surprise, 
after  his  first  mouthful. 

"  What  is  it  ?  is  n't  it  good  ? "  inquired 
Cricket,  anxiously,  with  a  sudden  pang,  as  she 
remembered  the  peppermint. 

"Good?  it's  —  it's  delicious.  Only,  why 
did  n't  you  flavour  it  ? " 

"  Flavour   it  ? "    cried   Marjorie    and    Eunice 


68  CRICKET. 

and  Cricket,  in  a  breath,  "  I  did !  "  Then  each 
looked  at  the  other. 

"  I  put  plenty  of  lemon  in,"  said  Marjorie. 

"  I  thought  bitter-almond  might  be  good," 
began  Eunice,  looking  bewildered. 

"  I  thought  Marjorie  had  forgotten,"  broke  in 
Cricket,  rapidly,  "  so  I  thought  I  'd  s'prise  her, 
and  I  meant  to  put  in  some  wintergreen,  'cause 
wintergreen  candy  is  very  good,  'n'  I  got  in  the 
peppermint,  by  mistake,  so  I  put  in  plenty  of 
wintergreen  afterwards,  to  cover  it  up."  She 
confessed  this  all  in  a  breath,  looking  very 
unhappy. 

There  was  a  shout. 

"  There 's  no  doubt,  then,  it  is  thoroughly 
flavoured;  it  must  have  been  my  taste,"  said 
the  doctor,  dryly.  "  I  'm  almost  sorry  I  have 
been  told,  for  there  is  such  a  charm  about  the 
unknown.  Do  you  remember  what  cook  said 
about  her  pumpkin  pie,  when  your  mother 
asked  her  receipt  ?  '  Shure,  there 's  milk,  an' 
there's  eggs  an'  there's  some  punkin,  but 
after  all,  it's  principally  ingrejiencies.'  Your 
ice-cream  is  really  delicious,  but  if  I  were  asked 
my  candid  opinion  I  should  say  it  was  princi- 
pally ingrejiences." 


MAKING   ICE-CREAM.  69 

Zaidee  and  I  have  it  all,  then, 
mamma,"  asked  Helen,  eagerly,  "  if  no  one  else 
wants  it?"  The  twins  had  been  eating  up 
mamma's  and  auntie's  cream  with  great  relish. 
"We  think  it's  good." 

"Let  them  have  all  they  want,"  the  doctor 
answered,  laughing.  "  I  'm  sure  the  amount 
of  peppermint  and  wintergreen  will  counteract 
any  possible  ill  effect  of  so  much  cold." 

The  older  children  were  much  disappointed, 
but  bore  it  very  well.  The  combination  of 
lemon  extract  and  bitter  almond  might  have 
been  endured,  but  Cricket's  generous  addition 
was  altogether  too  much. 

Archie  and  Will  put  their  heads  together  for 
a  few  minutes,  and  then  Archie  mounted  a 
hassock  and  asked  for  attention. 

"Now,  mamma,"  interrupted  Eunice,  "I 
know  he  is  going  to  say  something  horrid. 
Make  him  stop." 

"It  isn't  horrid,  ma'am,  it's  poetic  genius, 
that 'sail." 

"  Who  flavoured  up  our  nice  ice-cream, 
With  lemon-essence  by  the  ream  ? 
Marjorie." 


70  CKICKET. 

"  There !  I  knew  he  would,"  said  Eunice, 
resignedly. 

Will  took  up  the  strain : 

"  And  who  next  bitter  almonds  sought, 
And  poured  in  extract  by  the  quart  ? 
Eunice." 

"  Be  still,  you  wretch  !  "  cried  Eunice,  attack- 
ing him  in  the  rear  with  a  cushion. 

"  Come  on,  if  you  want  to  fight,"  said  Will. 
"  It 's  Archie's  turn,  now." 

"  Who  added  essence  without  stint, 
The  winter-green  and  peppermint  ? 
Our  Cricket,  oh  !  " 

And  both  boys  gave  vent  to  a  prolonged  howl 
of  anguish. 

"  Oh,  do  go  on !  "  cried  Cricket,  clapping  her 
hands.  "  It 's  splendid." 

Both  boys  continued  in  concert: 

"  Who  feasted  on  this  luscious  mess, 
And  groans  each  struggled  to  suppress? 
All  of  us  !  " 

Fortunately  just  here  the  supper-bell  rang,  and 
they  all  trooped  in. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

MOPSIE. 

IT  was  on  the  very  next  day  that  Mopsie  saved 
Eunice's  life.  Why,  I  have  n't  said  a  word  yet 
about  Mopsie,  have  I  ?  and  the  dear  little  fellow 
ought  to  have  a  whole  chapter  all  to  himself. 

The  pets  at  Kayuna  were  quite  as  important, 
in  the  children's  eyes,  at  least,  as  they  were 
themselves,  and  equalled  them  in  number. 
There  was  Donald's  great  St.  Bernard,  stately 
and  dignified,  Kaiser  William  by  name.  He 
was  a  splendid  fellow,  but  would  follow  no  one 
but  his  master.  The  pigeons,  lovely,  soft,  flut- 
tering things,  belonged  to  Marjorie,  who  fed 
them  faithfully.  They  would  come  at  her  call 
in  troops  and  light  on  her  shoulders,  and  peck 
at  bits  of  bread  which  she  held  between  her 
teeth. 

Eunice's  pet  was  a  beauty,  for  it  was  a  snow- 
white  pony,  which  her  godmother  had  given  her 
the  summer  before.  It  carried  her  in  the  saddle 
beautifully,  or  was  harnessed  to  the  little  light 


72  CRICKET. 

cart  which  held  two.  Fine  times  the  children 
had  with  Charcoal,  named  so,  on  Donald's  ad- 
vice, because  it  was  n't  black. 

The  twins  owned  between  them  the  cunning- 
est  and  brightest  little  Scotch  terrier,  named 
Duster,  from  his  feathery  tail,  which,  of  course, 
he  always  carried  straight  up  in  the  air.  An- 
other dog,  named  Dixie,  of  no  particular  breed, 
but  of  very  social  nature,  belonged  to  the  family 
in  general,  though  Cricket  laid  claim  to  him, 
until  she  had  Mopsie. 

And  who  was  Mopsie  ?  It  is  rather  a  humili- 
ating fact,  but  I  may  as  well  confess  it  at  once  — 
Mopsie  was,  or  had  been,  nothing  but  a  poor 
little  circus  pony. 

Cricket,  at  first,  was  rather  ashamed  of  Mop- 
sie's  past  history,  considering  that  Eunice  had 
her  beautiful  Charcoal,  who  had  been  born  and 
brought  up  in  a  gentleman's  stable.  The  boys 
teased  her  about  her  "  aristocratic  pony,"  till 
she  would  say,  rather  indignantly,  "  I  don't  care. 
It  doesn't  matter  a  bit  what  a  person  does,  if  he 
does  it  just  the  best  he  can,  mamma  says  so. 
And  it's  just  the  same  with  a  pony.  I  know  my 
Mopsie  was  the  nicest  horse  in  the  circus,  for 
the  men  said  so.  There  ! " 


MOPSIE.  73 

But  after  this  particular  day  no  one  ever 
teased  her  again. 

If  Mopsie  could  have  spoken,  he  could  have 
told  them  many  stories  of  his  circus-life.  He 
was,  certainly,  a  very  bright,  sweet-tempered 
little  creature,  and  knew  no  end  of  tricks,  more 
indeed,  than  the  children  ever  suspected,  for 
there  was  no  one  to  tell  him  to  do  them,  or  who 
knew  what  he  could  do.  He  could  sit  up  like  a 
dog,  and  hop  around  on  his  hind  legs,  keeping 
time  to  music, — this  had  been  called  dancing 
on  the  programme, — and  jump  through  hoops, 
and  many  other  things. 

For  a  long  time  the  children  wondered  why, 
as  soon  as  the  cart,  to  which  he  was  harnessed, 
stopped,  he  would  try  to  turn  himself  around 
beside  the  wheels.  But  this  was  a  trick  he  had 
been  taught.  The  clown  in  the  circus  would 
drive  him  round  and  round  the  ring,  and  as  soon 
as  he  stopped,  it  was  pony's  business  to  turn 
himself  directly  around,  for  the  front  wheels 
were  low  enough  to  slip  under  the  cart.  Then 
the  clown  would  pretend  he  couldn't  find  him, 
because  the  pony  was  no  longer  in  front,  and  he 
would  pretend  to  look  down  in  the  sawdust  for 
him,  and  in  his  pocket,  saying,  "  Now,  where  is 


74  CRICKET. 

Alexander  the  Great  gone  ? "  for  tha£  was 
name  before  he  was  Mopsie. 

Another  thing  he  had  been  trained  to  do  was 
to  pick  up  and  carry  really  heavy  things  in  hie* 
teeth,  and  run  away  with  them,  while  the  clown 
ran  after  him,  shouting  "  Stop ! "  but  the  little 
fellow  knew  he  must  not  stop  till  he  heard  hi? 
name  as  well. 

All  these,  and  many  more  tricks  Mopsie  had 
been  in  the  habit  of  doing  before  great  crowd* 
every  afternoon  and  evening. 

At  last  came  one  afternoon  that  Mopsie  little 
thought  was  to  be  his  last  in  the  circus.  The 
circus  had  come  to  Wellsboro',  and  Mike,  Doctor 
Ward's  groom,  had  gone  to  see  it.  He  was  so 
fond  of  horses  that  he  was  always  hanging 
around  the  tents  where  they  were  kept,  and  mak- 
ing friends  with  the  hostlers. 

Suddenly  a  great  commotion  arose.  One  of 
the  big  horses,  which  was  always  ugly,  got  per- 
fectly wild,  from  the  bites  of  horse-flies,  it  was 
afterward  thought,  and  began  kicking  furiously 
right  and  left,  plunging  and  rearing  till  the 
frightened  men  could  not  hold  him.  Poor  little 
Alexander  the  Great  was  being  groomed  and 
harnessed  for  the  ring ;  as  the  maddened  horse 


MOPSIE.  75 

broke  loose,  pony  and  groom  were  kicked  by 
those  great,  heavy  hoofs,  till  the  life  was  almost 
crushed  out  of  both  of  them. 

In  the  confusion,  after  the  horse  was  secured, 
nobody  noticed  poor  little  Alexander,  who  lay 
moaning  and  quivering  in  agony.  The  man  be- 
side him  was  lifted  and  taken  away,  and  then 
somebody  bent  over  the  pony. 

"  He 's  done  for,  poor  little  fellow,"  the  man 
said,  pityingly.  "  I'll  put  him  out  of  his  misery," 
and  he  drew  a  pistol. 

Then  Mike  came  forward.  "  Don't  shoot  him 
yit.  Lemme  look  at  the  loikes  of  'im." 

Mike  was  a  born  horse-doctor,  and  to  his 
practised  eye  the  pony  was  not  so  seriously  hurt 
but  that  there  was  hope  of  saving  him. 

"  Will  you  let  me  have  him  ?  "  he  asked,  after 
feeling  the  pony  all  over  very  carefully.  "  He  '11 
take  a  sight  o'  doctorin',  'n'  he  won't  be  no  good 
in  a  cirkis  agin." 

"  Take  him,  and  welcome,"  the  manager  said, 
hastily.  "We  've  no  time  for  sick  horses,"  and 
he  swore  again  at  the  horse  who  had  done  all 
the  mischief. 

So  Mike  got  an  old  door,  and  one  of  the  men 
helped  him  lift  poor  little  suffering  Alexander 


76  CRICKET. 

on  it.  Then  he  hired  a  cart  somewhere,  and 
so  the  pony  came  to  Kayuna. 

This  had  been  about  the  first  of  May.  The 
children  were  not  allowed  to  see  the  new  arrival 
for  a  week  or  two,  for  he  was  not  a  very  pleasant 
object.  His  legs  were  bound  up,  and  his  poor 
sides  were  all  covered  with  "  splarsters,"  as 
Zaidee  announced  once,  in  great  excitement, 
when  she  had  taken  a  stolen  peep. 

At  last  the  little  visitor  was  in  a  condition  to 
be  seen,  for,  thanks  to  Mike's  good  care,  he 
mended  fast.  The  "  splarsters  "  were  taken  off, 
though  his  legs  were  still  in  splints,  and  Mike 
groomed  his  shaggy,  uneven  coat  as  best  he  could. 

Cricket  and  Eunice  saw  him  first,  and  were 
perfectly  delighted  with  him.  He  was  even 
smaller  than  their  dear  Charcoal.  After  that 
they  were  his  constant  visitors,  feeding  him 
with  apples  and  sugar,  and  petting  him  till  poor 
little  Alexander  must  have  wondered  if  he  had 
died  and  gone  to  the  horse-heaven. 

Then  came  the  exciting  day  when  the  last 
splinter  and  bandage  were  removed,  and  pony,  a 
little  weak  and  uncertain  as  to  his  hoofs,  but 
very  frisky  as  to  his  head,  was  brought  out  into 
the  yard. 


MOPSIE.  77 

\ 

Mike,  meantime,  had  had  a  private  interview 
with  papa,  and  following  that,  one  with  Cricket. 

The  result  was,  that  a  very  happy  little  girl 
raced  down  to  the  barn,  with  Eunice  and  Dixie 
close  behind. 

"  Oh,  you  dear,  darling  old  Mopsie,"  Cricket 
cried  out,  flinging  her  arms  about  his  rough  little 
head.  "  You  're  my  ownty-donty  pony.  Eunice 
has  Charcoal,  and  now  I  have  you,"  and  she 
hugged  him  again  and  again. 

When  she  released  him,  what  did  that  cun- 
ning pony  do  but  offer  her  his  front  hoof  to 
shake ! 

"Oh,  you  dear,  dear,  thing!"  she  shrieked. 
"  Mike  !  Mike  !  see  that !  he  wants  to  shake 
hands,"  for  the  pony  sociably  offered  his  other 
hoof. 

"  Yis,  miss,"  said  proud  Mike,  grinning  from 
ear  to  ear.  "  He 's  been  a  cirkis-pony,  and 
knows  a  deal  o'  tricks,  I  dessay." 

Eunice  dived  into  the  stables,  and  in  a  moment 
reappeared,  leading  her  little  snowy  Charcoal. 
The  two  ponies  were  a  decided  contrast  —  the 
one  so  clean,  and  well-groomed  and  white,  and 
the  other,  rough  and  black,  with  shaggy,  uneven 
coat. 


78  CRICKET. 

"  Yours  is  awfully  cute,"  said  Eunice,  with 
an  arm  over  her  pony's  neck,  "but  he  can't 
compare  with  my  Charcoal.  He 's  nothing  but 
a  circus-pony,  after  all." 

That  was  not  like  Eunice,  and  she  did  not 
mean  to  hurt  Cricket's  feelings.  It  was  only 
that  her  own  pony  looked  so  fresh  and  dear  to 
her.  But  Cricket  fired  up  at  once. 

"  You  're  my  own  Mopsie,"  she  cried,  hug- 
ging her  black  pony  again,  "  and  no  other  pony 
could  be  half  so  cunning  and  smart.  Charcoal 
is  n't  a  bit  smart,  Eunice,  you  know  he  is  n't." 

A  quarrel  seemed  close  at  hand,  right  over 
those  dear  ponies,  which  stood  rubbing  noses  in 
the  friendliest  way.  But  Eunice  was  too  gener- 
ous to  hurt  Cricket's  feelings  knowingly,  and  she 
said,  quickly, 

"  Mopsie  does  look  awfully  bright,  Cricket, 
and  I  think  that's  a  good  name  for  him.  I 
wonder  what  his  name  really  was  ?  " 

But  Mike  did  not  know,  so  Mopsie  was 
christened  thus  on  the  spot,  and  Mopsie  he 
remained  to  the  end  of  the  chapter. 

"  When  can  I  ride  him,  do  you  think,  Mike  ?  " 
asked  Cricket,  eagerly,  as  she  fed  him  sugar. 

"  Shure,  Miss  Scricket,  an'  I  'm  thinkin'  it  '11 


MOPSIE.  79 

be  next  week  ye  '11  be  afther  ridin'  him,  if  he 
kapes  on  a'mendin'." 

After  this,  Cricket  hated  any  mention  of  the 
fact  that  Mopsie  was,  or  had  been,  a  circus-pony, 
though  she  stoutly  insisted  that  it  "  did  n't  make 
a  bit  of  difference,  so  long  as  he  circused  as 
well  as  he  could." 

Mike  took  the  best  of  care  of  him,  and  a 
month  made  a  wonderful  difference  with  the 
little  fellow.  Constant  and  careful  grooming 
made  his  rough  hair  smoother,  and  with  the 
vaseline  and  other  things  that  Mike  knew  of, 
his  uneven  coat  began  to  lose  the  marks  of  scars 
and  "  splarsters." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

WHAT    MOPSIE    DID. 

IT  was  a  proud  day  for  Cricket  when  the 
saddle  was  first  put  on  the  back  of  her  very 
own  pony,  and  Mike  mounted  her.  Not  that 
she  needed  to  be  mounted,  as  a  rule,  for  she  was 
quite  equal  to  grasping  the  shaggy  mane,  and 
scrambling  up  into  the  saddle  herself,  but  this 
was  such  an  important  occasion  that  ordinary 
methods  would  not  do. 

Mike  was  quite  as  proud  as  Cricket  was,  of 
the  black  pony.  To  think  that  but  for  his  kind- 
ness and  devoted  care  poor  little  Mopsie's 
bones  would  now  be  whitening  in  some  field ! 
And  not  only  that,  but  to  think  his  favour- 
ite Miss  "  Scricket "  now  had  a  pony  of  her 
own,  all  owing  to  him.  He  had  polished  up 
Mopsie  to  the  last  degree,  and  now  that  the 
pony  had  its  pretty  little  saddle  on,  just  like 
Charcoal's,  the  two  did  not  make  a  bad  pair. 

All  the  younger  fry  gathered  to  watch  this 
first  mounting.  Dr.  Ward  was  there,  also,  for 


WHAT    MOPSIE    DID.  81 

he  did  not  know  whether  Mopsie  had  ever  carried 
a  little  girl  before,  and  he  wanted  to  make  sure 
that  everything  was  right.  The  children  can- 
tered up  and  down  the  avenue  to  the  gates  and 
back,  and  even  Charcoal  seemed  to  think  that 
two  ponies  were  much  more  fun  than  one. 
Mopsie  was  a  bit  stiff  at  first,  but  he  soon  grew 
more  limber,  and  at  last  papa  said  that  they 
might  ride  down  the  road,  outside  the  gates. 

"  Hurrah !  get  up,  Mopsie  ! "  cried  Cricket, 
bringing  the  whip  lightly  down  on  Mopsie's 
black  flank,  and  tightening  the  rein  a  little. 
To  her  great  surprise  Mopsie  began  to  rise  on 
his  hind  legs,  till  his  front  feet  waved  in  the  air, 
and  then  he  gravely  stalked  away  on  the  two 
legs,  with  Cricket  wildly  clutching  his  mane. 

"  Get  down,  Mopsie,"  she  shrieked.  "  Why, 
I  'm  falling  off.  Get  down  this  minute." 

Papa  and  Mike  both  ran  to  the  rescue,  but 
knowing  little  Mopsie  seemed  to  feel  that,  after 
all,  this  was  not  what  was  expected  of  him,  so 
he  slowly  lowered  his  front  feet,  and  stood 
quietly  waiting  for  further  orders.^ 

Mike  was  full  of  apologies  for  his  pet. 

"  It 's  the  way  ye  drew  the  line,  Miss 
Scricket,"  he  said,  anxiously.  "  It  V  only  wan 


82  CRICKET. 

of  thim  cirkis-tricks.  See!  he  don't  mane  no 
harm,  at  all,  at  all." 

"Oh,  it's  lots  of  fun,"  cried  Cricket,  ex- 
citedly, when  she  discovered  that  Mopsie  evi- 
dently thought  he  was  only  doing  his  duty.  "  I 
wish  I  could  make  him  do  it  again."  But  just 
what  pull  of  the  rein  was  necessary  to  tell  him 
to  rear  she  could  not  find  out,  though  she  jerked 
the  patient  pony's  head  this  way  and  that. 

"  But  I  'm  afraid  to  have  you  go  out  of  the 
yard,  my  little  girl,"  said  papa,  "for  Mopsie 
might  rear  like  that  any  time  and  throw 
you." 

"  Oh,  no,  papa,  really,"  pleaded  Cricket,  "  for 
he  goes  up  so  slowly,  that  now  that  I  know 
what's  coming,  I'm  not  a  bit  afraid,  and  he 
comes  right  straight  down." 

However,  papa  would  not  consent  to  Cricket's 
making  a  circus-rider  of  herself  till  she  under- 
stood Mopsie  a  little  better,  so  there  were  two  or 
three  weeks  of  riding  within  the  grounds.  At 
last  there  came  a  day  when  papa  said  that  he 
thought  Mopsie  was  now  enough  accustomed  to 
a  little  girl's  riding  him  to  go  straight  along  the 
road. 

It  was  the  day  after  Fourth  of  July  when  the 


WHAT    MOPSIE    DID.  83 

children  took  their  first  ride  out  into  the  coun- 
try. Dr.  Ward,  mounted  on  his  big  gray  horse, 
went  with  them  for  some  distance,  and  then 
gave  them  permission  to  ride  along  the  lake- 
road  and  so  home,  while  he  rode  further  on,  on 
some  business. 

It  was  lovely  riding  along  by  the  lake-road, 
where  it  was  all  cool  and  shady,  on  that  hot 
morning.  The  edge  of  the  road  sloped  rather 
steeply  to  the  lake,  but  most  of  the  way  there 
was  an  old  fence  along  there.  In  some  places  it 
was  broken  down.  Now  and  then  a  fire-cracker 
in  the  distance  made  both  ponies  jump  a  little. 
Charcoal,  especially,  was  very  nervous  about 
fire-crackers,  for  once  some  one  had  fired  off  a 
whole  package  right  under  his  nose,  and  he  had 
been  dreadfully  frightened. 

Presently  the  little  girls  came  to  a  place  where 
some  lovely,  rare  flowers  were  growing  by  the 
lake  side,  and  Cricket  jumped  off  her  pony  to  get 
them.  It  was  one  of  the  places  where  the  fence 
was  broken  down,  so  she  slipped  down  the  bank 
to  pick  the  flowers,  leaving  Mopsie  cropping  a  tuft 
of  grass  above. 

As  she  did  so,  three  small  boys,  who  were  in 
hiding  in  the  bushes,  suddenly  jumped  up  and 


84  CEICKET. 

fired  off  a  whole  pack  of  crackers,  flash  !  bang ! 
right  under  Charcoal's  sensitive  nose. 

There  was  a  scream  from  Eunice,  Charcoal 
jumped  sideways,  and  in  a  moment  Charcoal, 
Mopsie  and  Eunice  rolled  down  the  steep  bank, 
and  were  struggling  in  the  water,  while  Cricket 
stood  horrified  on  the  bank.  The  water  was 
very  deep  there,  even  close  to  the  shore,  and  the 
force  of  the  fall  carried  all  three  some  distance 
out.  Cricket  and  the  very  frightened  small 
boys  set  up  shriek  after  shriek,  but  the  road 
was  very  lonely,  and  no  houses  were  near.  No 
one  was  in  sight  to  render  aid. 

Charcoal  was  nearest  the  shore,  and  swam  to 
the  bank ;  he  scrambled  up  like  a  dog,  and  stood 
shivering  on  the  brink,  much  too  frightened  to 
do  anything  but  stand  still. 

Here,  in  this  strait,  Mopsie's  circus-training 
came  to  the  front.  As  he  and  Eunice  both 
rose  to  the  surface,  she  struggling  and  scream- 
ing, the  knowing  little  pony  caught  her  dress 
in  his  teeth,  and  began  to  swim  slowly  towards 
the  shore  with  his  burden.  Fortunate,  now, 
that  he  had  learned  to  carry  heavy  things 
in  his  teeth  like  a  dog.  It  was  only  a  short 
distance  he  had  to  swim,  and  in  a  few  minutes 


WHAT   MOPSIE   DID.  85 

he  was  near  enough  for  Cricket,  steadying 
herself  by  an  overhanging  branch,  to  reach 
forward  and  help  draw  Eunice  in.  Mopsie 
scrambled  up  as  Charcoal  had  done,  and  stood 
quietly  shaking  himself,  like  a  big  Newfound- 
land dog. 

For  a  few  minutes  the  children  could  do 
nothing  but  hug  each  other  and  cry.  Then 
Cricket  exclaimed,  "  Oh,  you  dear,  darling  old 
Mopsie!  you  saved  my  Eunice's  life,"  and 
hugged  her  brave  little  pony  tightly  around 
its  wet  neck.  Then  Eunice  put  her  dripping 
arms  around  it,  too. 

"  You  dearest  Mopsie,"  she  half-sobbed,  "  I  'm 
so  glad  you  were  a  circus-pony,  for  just  a  plain 
horse  might  n't  have  been  able  to  hold  my 
dress  so,  and  I'm  going  to  love  you  just  as 
much  as  I  do  Charcoal." 

Two  very  funny-looking  children  rode  into 
the  yard  a  little  later.  Great  was  the  excite- 
ment when  the  story  was  told,  and  Mopsie  had 
enough  petting  and  praise  and  sugar  to  turn 
an  ordinary  horse's  head.  Doctor  Ward  said 
that,  without  doubt,  Eunice  would  have  drowned 
but  for  Mopsie's  training  to  catch  and  hold 
things  in  his  teeth,  and  besides  that,  he  said 


86  CEICKET. 

that  the  little  fellow's  circus  life  had  probably 
done  for  him  what  education  does  for  people 
generally — made  him  readier  and  quicker. 

After  that  Cricket  had  the  best  of  it  when 
anybody  teased  her  about  riding  a  circus-pony, 
for  she  would  exclaim,  "  I  don't  care  if  he  was. 
He  saved  Eunice's  life,  for  papa  said  so.  And 
a  plain  horse  would  n't  have  known  how." 

And  Eunice  would  add :  "  We  love  him  all 
the  better  for  it,  because  he  had  to  learn  how 
to  be  an  every-day  pony,  and  he  's  learned  it  so 
well." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE    KITTENS. 

"Now,  what  do  you  s'pose  those  children 
are  up  to  ? "  asked  Cricket,  with  much  interest. 

"Those  children,"  referred  to  in  that  par- 
ticular tone,  always  meant  the  twins,  Zaidee 
and  Helen. 

Cricket  and  Eunice  sat  in  an  apple-tree,  on 
alow,  gnarled  limb,  munching  harvest  apples. 
It  was  after  dinner,  and  they  had  not  yet 
decided  what  to  do  with  their  afternoon.  It 
was  too  hot  to  ride,  and  besides,  they  had  been 
out  on  their  ponies  all  the  morning. 

Trooping  along  the  lane  beneath  them  went 
the  nursery  party,  Zaidee  and  Helen,  with  their 
nurse,  Eliza,  who  held  little  Kenneth  by  the 
hand.  With  them  was  their  little  playmate, 
Sylvie  Craig,  with  her  nurse,  who  was  wheeling 
Baby  Craig  in  his  carriage. 

Zaidee  and  Sylvie  swung  between  them  a 
good-sized  covered  basket,  which  did  not  seem 
to  be  heavy,  although  they  carried  it  with 


88  CRICKET. 

great  care.  All  were  chattering  and  laughing 
in  high  glee. 

"  Did  you  ever  do  it  ?  "  the  girls  heard  Sylvie 
ask.  "  It 's  the  dratest  fun.  Zey  all  swim 
round,  and  you  pote  'em  wiv  a  stit." 

"Does  they  squeal?"  queried  Zaidee,  ear- 
nestly. 

"No-o,  I  don't  zink  so,"  returned  Sylvie, 
doubtfully. 

"  I  sawed  Thomas  cut  off  a  chicken's  head 
once,"  piped  up  Helen. 

"  I  've  seen  lots  of  chiten's  heads  tut  off," 
said  Sylvie,  in  a  superior  way. 

"  What  are  they  going  to  do  ? "  wondered  the 
girls  in  the  apple-tree,  as  the  group  passed  down 
the  lane. 

"They're  going  to  the  brook,"  said  Cricket, 
peering  after  them.  "  Let 's  go  and  see." 

"Don't  let  them  see  us,"  cautioned  Eunice. 
"  I  b'lieve  they  're  up  to  some  mischief.  Keep 
behind  the  hedge." 

Eunice  and  Cricket  followed  the  group  at  a 
little  distance. 

The  children  stopped  by  the  brook  and  the 
older  girls  watched  their  proceedings  with  much 
interest  from  behind  the  hedge.  The  two 


EUNICE    AND    CRICKET    WATCHING    THE    OTHER 
CHILDREN. 


THE    KITTENS.  91 

nurses,  both  young  girls,  sat  down  on  the 
grassy  slope  and  began  to  talk,  without  no- 
ticing the  little  ones  much.  The  brook  was 
wide  just  there,  and  quite  deep  with  recent 
rains.  Overhanging  willows  lined  its  banks, 
and  made  it  cool  and  shady. 

The  children  opened  their  basket. 

"What  have  they  got  there?"  whispered 
Eunice,  craning  her  neck,  as  Sylvie  suddenly 
said, — 

"  Don't  open  it  yet.     We  must  det  some  stits." 

Sticks  abounded,  and  each  child  armed  her- 
self with  a  stout  one.  Then  Sylvie  lifted  the 
cover,  and  took  out  four  little  squirming,  week- 
old  kittens,  with  their  eyes  still  shut. 

"  Now,"  directed  Sylvie,  eagerly,  "  you  frow 
one  in  so.  Oh,  see  it  bob !  frow  in  anower  one, 
Zaidee,  and  pote  'em  down  when  zey  turn  up," 
—  and  suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  she  poked 
down  the  helpless  little  bobbing  head  of  the 
unfortunate  kitten. 

"I'm  afraid  it  hurts  them,"  said  tender- 
hearted Helen. 

"  Oh,  no,  it  does  n't,"  insisted  Sylvie.  "  'Tause 
I  heard  mamma  tell  Dennis  to  drown  zem  her 
own  self.  Does  n't  hurt,  really." 


92  CRICKET. 

And  Helen,  thus  reassured,  threw  in  the 
wretched  little  black  kitten  she  held,  and  stood 
ready  with  her  stick. 

"Let  me  frow  one  in,"  cried  three-year-old 
Kenneth,  much  excited,  picking  up  one  helpless 
little  straggler,  and  pitching  it  eagerly  into  the 
water.  "  Pote  it  down,  Zaidee  ! " 

Eunice  and  Cricket  were  so  much  amazed  at 
this  blood-thirsty  sight,  that  at  first  they  simply 
stared.  But  when  little  Kenneth  pushed  down 
the  heads  of  the  helpless  victims,  Eunice  re- 
covered herself  and  rushed  to  the  rescue. 

"  Why,  you  naughty,  naughty  children,"  she 
said,  in  her  severest  tones,  "  to  drown  the  poor 
little  kittens !  How  would  you  like  me  to  poke 
you  down  under  the  water  like  that,  Kenneth  ?  " 

"  Sylvie  says  it  does  n't  hurt'  em,"  said  Ken- 
neth, opening  his  big  blue  eyes. 

"  Of  course  it  hurts  to  be  thumped  on  the 
head,"  said  Eunice.  "  Eliza,  you  ought  not  let 
them  do  so." 

"Oh,  law!  them  kittens  don't  mind,"  said 
the  nurse,  carelessly.  "  They  '11  never  know 
what  killed  'em." 

"  Mamma  told  Dennis  to  drown  zem,  her  own 
self,  she  did,"  objected  Sylvie,  clinging  to  her 
stick. 


THE   KITTENS.  93 

"  Dennis  does  n't  drown  them  that  way, 
goosie  "  explained  Eunice.  "  He  ties  them  up 
in  a  bag,  and  puts  a  stone  in  it,  and  they  all 
drown  so  fast  that  they  never  know  it.  It's 
cruel  to  hit  them  that  way,  you  naughty  little 
things,  and  you  must  promise  never  to  do  it 
again." 

The  children,  subdued  by  Eunice's  sharp 
words  and  older-sister  authority,  duly  promised, 
very  gravely,  though  Sylvie  could  not  resist  a 
last  sly  rap.  The  little,  helpless,  bobbing  things 
by  this  time  floated  quietly  on  the  surface,  and 
one  by  one  the  little  bodies  drifted  beyond  reach 
of  the  children's  sticks. 

Then  Kenneth,  who  was  only  a  baby,  began 
to  whimper. 

"  I  did  n't  mean  to  hurt  ze  tittens,"  he  sobbed. 
"  Would  it  have  hurted  'em  wivvout  we  poted 
'em,  Tritet?" 

"  I  guess  not, "  said  Cricket,  comforting  her 
pet.  "Frhaps  it  didn't  hurt  them  so  very 
much  this  time,  only  remember,  you  must  never 
do  it  again." 

"  No,  me  won't  ever  pote  'em  aden,"  promised 
Kenneth. 

Then,  this  part  of  the  afternoon's  programme 


94  CRICKET. 

being  over,  the  children  ran  away  further  along 
the  stream  to  play,  while  Cricket  and  Eunice  sat 
down  on  the  bank,  skipping  stones.  Baby  Craig 
slept  peacefully  in  his  carriage,  and  the  nurses 
gossiped  and  crocheted  together. 

Presently  the  girls  went  a  little  distance 
down  the  bank,  and  crossed  on  the  stepping- 
stones.  Lovely  cardinal  flowers  grew  in 
abundance  further  up,  and  they  picked  big 
bunches  of  them.  Faintly,  from  some  distance 
up  the  stream,  came  the  children's  voices,  but 
they  were  out  of  sight  of  the  older  ones,  on 
account  of  the  overhanging  bushes  that  bordered 
the  stream  above  them,  on  both  sides.  An  hour 
of  the  sultry  afternoon  slipped  by.  The  girls 
still  sat  idly  by  the  brookside,  for  it  was  far  too 
hot  for  the  least  exertion.  At  last,  Eliza,  who 
was  not  usually  so  careless,  suddenly  bethought 
herself  of  her  neglected  charges. 

"  Miss  Eunice,"  she  called  across  the  stream, 
coming  up  opposite  to  where  the  girls  sat,  "  have 
you  seen  the  children  ? " 

"  They  went  up  the  brook,  I  think,  'Liza,  and 
I  have  not  thought  of  them  since.  I  hope 
nothing  has  happened  to  them,"  said  Eunice, 
anxiously. 


THE   KITTENS.  95 

"  Oh,  I  guess  not,"  returned  Eliza,  but  she  set 
off  rapidly  up  the  stream.  Some  distance 
beyond  there  was  a  tiny  cottage,  where  there 
lived  a  poor  widow,  a  young  Scotchwoman, 
with  several  little  children.  Eliza  had  some- 
times taken  the  twins  there,  and  it  occurred  to 
her  that  they  might  have  wandered  there  now 
by  themselves. 

But  in  another  minute  the  little  ones  came  in 
sight,  running  in  great  excitement. 

"  Elspeth  failed  in  the  water,"  shrieked 
Helen,  while  still  far  off.  Elspeth  was  the 
Scotchwoman's  two-year-old  baby.  "  We  sawed 
her  fall  in." 

Cricket  and  Eunice  were  across  the  stepping- 
stones  in  a  moment,  and  flew  to  meet  the 
children. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  they  cried,  while 
Mary  Ann  left  Baby  Craig  in  his  carriage  to 
join  them. 

"  She  failed  in,"  repeated  Zaidee,  breathlessly, 

"  And  we  did  n't  pote  her  wiv  a  stit,"  struck 
in  Sylvie,  virtuously. 

"But  who  pulled  her  out?"  asked  Eliza. 

"  Nobody  pulled  her  out,  'Liza.  She's  all  in. 
the  water." 


96  CRICKET. 

"  Now  !  In  the  water  now  ?  Is  she  drowned  ? " 
cried  the  others,  horrified. 

"  I  dess  her 's  drownded  dead,"  said  Sylvie, 
cheerfully.  "  But  me  did  n't  pote  her,  truly. 
Her  dust  fell  in." 

"  I  sawed  her  fall  in,"  put  in  Kenneth.  "  It 
was  all  deep." 

"  And  she  kicked  in  the  water,"  added  Helen, 
"  and  by  'n'  by  she  sailed  up  to  the  top,  just  like 
the  kitties." 


CHAPTER  X. 

ELSPETH. 

EUNICE  and  Cricket  exchanged  frightened 
glances. 

"  Where  is  she  now  ? "  repeated  Mary  Ann, 
also  looking  scared. 

"  In  ze  water,  'tourse,"  returned  little  Sylvie, 
impatiently.  "  Her  sailed  down  ze  water  all  zis 
way,  an'  zen  ze  bushes  taught  her,  an'  her 
tould  n't  s.ail  any  more." 

"Listen!  what's  that?"  cried  Eunice,  with 
white  lips. 

A  distant  cry  was  becoming  nearer  and  louder. 

"  My  bairn  !  my  bairn  !  "  rang  a  wailing  voice. 

Around  the  curve  of  the  brook  ran  a  wild-eyed 
woman,  wringing  her  hands. 

Across  the  fields,  attracted  by  her  cries,  two 
men  came  hurrying. 

"  She  drowned !  my  bairn  is  drowned  ! "  the 
hapless  mother  cried,  pushing  back  her  falling 
hair. 

"  I  sawed  her  fall  in ! "  cried  Zaidee. 


98  CRICKET. 

The  questioning  men  and  the  half-crazed 
mother  stopped  at  the  child's  words,  and 
gathered  around  the  little  ones.  They  grew 
frightened  and  incoherent  at  the  storm  of  ques- 
tions that  assailed  them. 

Evidently  a  tragedy  had  taken  place  under  the 
children's  very  eyes.  They  had  seen  little  Els- 
peth,  when  they  were  way  up  the  bank,  they 
said,  chasing  yellow  butterflies.  She  had  run 
towards  the  brook,  through  the  tall  grass,  and 
she  must  have  plunged  straight  into  the  water. 
This  was  the  main  stream  of  the  Kayuna,  and 
the  current'  ran  swift  and  deep  there. 

The  children  saw  her,  and  ran  to  the  spot, 
but  they  never  thought  of  giving  the  alarm,  for 
they  had  no  idea  what  drowning  really  is.  As 
they  said,  "  the  baby  kicked  in  the  water,  and 
then  it  sailed  up  to  the  top."  Their  chief  idea 
was  that  they  must  not  poke  it  with  a  stick. 

They  had  watched  the  little  creature  "  sailing  " 
down  the  brook,  and  had  run  along  the  bank  be- 
side it. 

"  Zere  it  is,"  Sylvie  suddenly  broke  off,  point- 
ing to  the  curve  above. 

"  It 's  under  the  bushes,"  Zaidee  said,  begin- 
ning to  cry  with  nervousness  and  fright.  The 


ELSPETH.  99 

excited  group  around,  all  talking  and  asking 
questions  at  once,  the  frantic  mother  catching 
first  at  one  child  and  then  at  another,  Mary 
Ann  crying  and  groaning  in  true  Irish  fashion, 
completely  bewildered  the  little  ones,  who  had 
not  the  faintest  idea  of  the  importance  of  what 
they  had  seen. 

As  Zaidee  pointed,  one  of  the  men  sprang  into 
the  water,  knee  deep. 

"  I  see  it ! "  he  cried,  and  pressed  forward 
through  the  water. 

The  poor  mother  was  plunging  after  him  when 
the  other  man  forcibly  held  her  back. 

"  Let  me  go  to  my  bairn,"  she  cried,  strug- 
gling. 

"  We  '11  bring  your  bairn,"  he  said,  motioning 
to  the  two  nurses  to  hold  her  back,  while  he  tore 
up  the  bank. 

The  brushes  grew  thick  there,  and  the  baby 
had  been  caught  underneath  in  such  a  way  that 
it  could  not  be  seen  from  the  steep  bank.  Ex- 
cepting that  the  children  had  known  where  it 
had  stopped,  it  would  have  been  much  longer 
before  it  was  found. 

The  man  on  the  bank  plunged  down  through 
the  bushes  and  both  men  were  lost  to  view. 


100  CRICKET. 

Five  minutes  of  breathless  waiting  passed, 
while  even  the  poor  mother  only  moaned 
brokenly,  and  then  they  reappeared,  one  of 
them  bearing  the  little  drowned  baby. 

"  Run  for  your  pa,  children,"  cried  Eliza,  but 
Cricket's  swift  feet  were  already  flying  along  to 
the  house. 

The  group  stood  in  awed  silence  as  the  bearer 
tenderly  deposited  the  dripping  little  burden  on 
the  grass.  It  looked  as  if  it  were  asleep.  The 
golden  curls  clung  to  its  white  forehead,  and  the 
little  face  was  still  rosy. 

The  poor  mother  cast  herself  down  beside  it 
in  a  perfect  abandonment  of  grief,  kissing  its 
lips,  and  clasping  the  lifeless  little  form  to  her 
breast,  as  she  cried,  ceaselessly, — 

"  Oh,  my  bairn  !  my  bairn !  " 

Running  at  full  speed  down  the  lane  came 
Dr.  Ward,  with  blankets,  and  close  behind  him 
followed  his  wife,  with  a  whiskey-flask.  In  a 
moment  he  was  among  them,  and  had  caught 
the  child  from  the  mother.  He  tore  off  its 
clothes  and  put  his  ear  to  its  heart. 

"There  is  hope,  I  think,"  he  said,  quickly, 
and  with  that,  although  the  baby  had  been 
so  long  under  water,  there  began  a  desperate 


ELSPETH.  101 

fight  for  the  little  life.  The  doctor  worked 
with  an  intensity  that  would  not  yield  to 
despair,  rubbing  and  working  the  little  round, 
white  limbs. 

The  minutes  wore  on,  and  the  helpless  on- 
lookers could  only  stand  by  in  breathless 
silence.  The  doctor  gave  brief,  quick  orders 
which  willing  hands  executed.  He  carried  the 
baby  into  the  direct  glare  of  the  scorching 
August  sun,  which  beat  down  with  fierce 
intensity  on  his  unprotected  head.  But  no 
one  heeded  the  sickening  heat.  The  poor 
mother  sat  by,  passively  now,  like  a  stone, 
her  hands  clasped  round  her  knees,  in  dull 
despair.  Her  long  hair,  yellow  as  the  baby's 
own,  rolled  in  a  rough  mass  down  her  back, 
torn  and  tangled  by  the  bushes,  and  her  wild 
eyes  watched  the  doctor's  every  movement. 

The  work  of  rubbing  the  tiny,  white  body, 
and  working  the  little  arms  up  and  down,  went 
steadily  on,  one  relieving  another,  but  thus  far 
with  no  avail. 

Half  an  hour  passed.  The  doctor  worked  on 
with  set  lips. 

"Better  give  it  up,  sir,"  one  of  the  men 
ventured  at  last,  stopping  to  wipe  his  streaming 


102  CRICKET. 

forehead.  The  doctor's  face  was  dark  purple, 
and  every  vein  was  swelling.  At  the  sugges- 
tion of  stopping  their  efforts,  the  mother  uttered 
a  low  moan,  and  stretched  out  her  hands  im- 
ploringly. 

"  Work  on,"  the  doctor  made  answer,  briefly. 
"Work  its  arms  steadily,  Johnson.  Rub 
evenly,  Emily,"  he  said,  bending  again  to 
breathe  into  the  baby's  parted  lips.  He  raised 
his  head  suddenly,  then  bent  his  ear  again  to 
its  heart. 

"Thank  God!"  he  breathed.  A  thrill  of 
life  ran  through  the  baby's  frame.  There  was 
a  faint  quiver  of  its  eyelashes,  a  gasp  for  breath, 
—  another  —  and  the  baby  stirred.  Elspeth 
was  saved. 

There  was  a  moment  of  intense  silence,  and 
then  the  mother  threw  herself  forward  and 
clasped  her  baby  to  her  bosom  with  a  hungry 
cry  of  joy  that  no  one  present  ever  forgot. 

Papa's  feelings  when  he  learned  that  his  own 
little  ones  had  seen  the  accident  may  be  im- 
agined, and  then  and  there  he  gave  the  children 
a  few  instructions  that  even  the  youngest  ones 
never  forgot. 

The  mother  had  missed  her  baby,  but  she 


ELSPETH.  103 

thought  nothing  of  it  at  first,  for  the  little 
thing  often  strayed  some  distance  from  the 
house.  At  last,  growing  anxious,  she  went 
out  again  and  looked  around.  Down  the  bank 
she  saw  a  little  child  in  a  pink  dress,  which 
she  thought  was  her  little  one.  It  was  really  a 
glimpse  of  Helen  in  her  little  pink  frock.  The 
mother  went  back,  thinking  the  child  was  safe. 

After  a  time  she  went  out  to  call  it  home, 
when,  to  her  horror,  she  saw  her  baby's  sun- 
bonnet  caught  on  a  low,  overhanging  branch, 
with  nothing  else  to  be  seen ;  and  then  knowing 
the  baby  must  have  fallen  in,  she  had  rushed, 
screaming  for  help,  down  the  bank  in  search 
of  it. 

Little  Elspeth,  wrapped  in  blankets,  was 
carried  to  the  doctor's  house  to  be  cared  for 
further,  and  the  next  day  she  was  playing 
about,  as  round  and  rosy  as  ever. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

IN   THE    GARRET. 

THE  garret  of  the  old  stone  house  was  a  mine 
of  wealth  to  the  children.  It  was  a  huge  place, 
extending  over  the  whole  house.  It  had  many 
unexpected  angles  and  sudden  little  descents  of 
two  or  three  steps  in  different  places,  over  the 
rambling  additions. 

Four  generations  of  Wards  had  lived  at 
Kayuna,  and  so  there  was  a  most  delightful 
accumulation  in  the  garret.  Of  course  there 
were  lines  of  old  trunks,  piled  with  ancient 
dresses  and  quaint  bonnets  dating  from  the 
beginning  of  the  century.  There  were  stacks 
of  old  furniture  in  various  stages  of  going  to 
pieces.  There  were  piles  of  musty  books,  in 
strange-smelling  leather  bindings.  There  were 
big  bundles  of  closely-tied  up  feather-beds,  like 
huge,  soft  cannon-balls.  These  made  magnifi- 
cent barricades  when  the  children  played  that 
they  were  bombarding  forts. 

It  was  as  hot  as  mustard  up  there  in  the 


IN    THE    GARRET.  105 

summer-time,  of  course,  but  the  children  never 
minded  the  heat.  Then  there  were  the  long, 
rainy  days  that  came  occasionally,  when  it  was 
a  simple  delight  to  scamper  up  there  directly 
after  breakfast,  to  hear  the  rain  pelting  cheer- 
fully on  the  roof,  and  the  wind  whistling 
through  the  window-casings,  "  like  a  boy  with 
his  hands  in  his  pockets,"  Cricket  said. 

The  whole  troop  had  been  there  one  day. 
It  had  rained  early  in  the  morning,  and  though 
it  cleared  up  before  eleven,  the  children  played 
on  until  they  had  quite  exhausted  their  re- 
sources. 

They  had  sailed  across  the  ocean  in  search 
of  America,  in  a  huge  old  sofa  turned  upside 
down.  They  had  been  shipwrecked,  owing  to  a 
sudden  parting  of  the  back  and  sides  of  their 
bark,  and  then  they  were  chased  by  cannibals, 
represented  by  Hilda  and  Edith  Craig  and  an 
imaginary  host. 

Little  Kenneth,  the  usual  victim  on  these 
occasions,  had  been  caught  and  prepared  for  a 
feast,  till  rescued  by  Cricket  and  Hilda  in  a 
valiant  charge. 

They  had  played  the  Chariot  Race  in  Ben- 
Hur,  with  Zaidee  and  Helen  as  horses,  har- 


106  CRICKET. 

nessed  to  an  old  wheel-chair,  with  Edith  as 
charioteer,  while  Cricket  drove  a  dashing  pair, 
consisting  of  Eunice  and  Sylvie  Craig.  Hilda 
and  Kenneth  were  occupants  of  the  amphi- 
theatre, and  cheered  on  the  contestants,  as  they 
raced  around  the  great  chimney  in  the  centre  of 
the  house. 

That  naturally  suggested  the  burning  of 
Rome,  with  Nero,  personated  by  Eunice,  fiddling, 
as  she  sat  on  a  very  high  and  very  insecure 
tower,  built  of  trunks  and  chairs  and  three- 
legged  tables,  while  the  inhabitants  of  the  city 
tore  around  to  save  their  property. 

Then  they  tied  themselves  up  in  bags,  drawn 
over  their  feet  and  around  their  waists,  for  tails, 
and  played  they  were  mermaids,  disporting 
themselves  among  the  rocks  and  seaweeds, 
represented  by  boxes  and  old  drapery,  properly 
arranged  on  one  of  the  lower  levels  of  the  floor. 

This  lasted  until  Kenneth,  trying  to  imitate 
the  older  girls  in  diving  off  a  bowlder  on  to  a 
feather  bed  beneath,  missed  his  balance  and 
fell  entangled  in  the  bag  that  served  him  for  a 
tail.  He  bumped  his  poor  little  head  and  made 
his  nose  bleed,  and  was  borne  off  shrieking,  by 
Eliza,  who  just  then  appeared  on  the  scene. 


IN    THE    GAREET.  107 

Then  the  Craigs  and  Hilda  had  to  go  home  to 
dinner,  and  the  twins  went  out  to  play. 

After  dinner,  Cricket  and  Eunice  wandered 
up  stairs  to  the  garret  again. 

"  What  let 's  do  now  ?  "  asked  Eunice,  as  they 
sat  among  the  ruins  of  Rome. 

"Why,  let's — "  Cricket  looked  vaguely 
around.  "Let's  dress  up  in  those  clothes  up 
there." 

Some  old  clothes  of  Dr.  Ward's,  and  of 
Donald's,  hung  up  on  the  wall. 

"  Oh,  that  will  be  fun,"  cried  Eunice,  jumping 
down.  "  We  have  n't  dressed  up  this  summer, 
once." 

They  slipped  out  of  their  gingham  dresses 
and  petticoats,  and  with  much  giggling  and 
merriment  got  themselves  into  the  boys'  clothes. 

The  trousers  were  so  long  that  they  had  to 
cut  off  the  legs,  to  allow  their  feet  to  come  out 
at  all,  and  the  vests  and  coats  were  anything 
but  a  tight  fit. 

"  This  coat  is  too  fat  for  me,"  Cricket  said, 
dubiously,  studying  the  effect. 

Eunice  caught  up  a  small  pillow  and  stuffed  it 
up  behind  Cricket's  back  under  the  coat. 

"  But  now   I  look   hump-backed,"    objected 


108  CRICKET. 

Cricket,  twisting  herself  double  to  get  a  rear 
view. 

"  Never  mind,  we  '11  play  you  are  hump- 
backed," returned  Eunice,  always  ready  of 
resource,  as  she  patted  the  pillow  into  a  nice, 
round  hump.  "  We  '11  play  that  we  're  Italians, 
and  you  can  be  that  poor  little  Pickaninny,  or 
whatever  his  name  was,  that  mamma  read  us 
about  last  night." 

"  Then  we  '11  be  tramps.  Oh,  let 's  go  out 
doors,  and  go  round  to  the  kitchen  and  scare 
cook ! " 

This  proposal  was  received  with  applause  by 
Eunice. 

"  Wait  till  I  slip  down  stairs  into  papa's 
office,  Eunice,"  Cricket  suggested  next,  "  and 
I'll  get  some  court-plaster  to  patch  up  our 
faces,  and  no  one  will  ever  know  us.  We  '11 
have  piles  of  fun !  " 

Cricket  was  gone  a  long  time,  and  came  back 
giggling  and  breathless. 

"  I  heard  some  one  in  the  hall,"  she  said,  "  so 
I  did  n't  dare  go  down  stairs,  and  I  just  got  out 
of  the  bath-room  window  on  to  the  office  roof, 
and  I  climbed  down  the  trellis  and  went  in  the 
office  window,  and  just  as  I  found  the  court- 


IN   THE    GARRET.  109 

plaster  case,  I  heard  some  one  coming,  so  I  had 
to  run  like  fury,  and  I  just  flew  out  the  window, 
and  did  n't  I  skip  up  the  trellis  lively !  "  gasped 
Cricket,  taking  breath. 

"  Then  I  heard  some  one  in  the  hall,  so  I  had 
to  stay  in  the  bath-room  ever  so  long,  and  I 
thought  they  'd  never  go.  And  here  's  the  whole 
case,"  she  said,  producing  it. 

"  But  suppose  that  papa  wants  the  case  before 
we  can  get  it  back  ? "  asked  Eunice,  selecting 
a  big  piece. 

"Hope  to  goodness  he  won't,  or  I'll  get  a 
wiggin,"  said  Cricket,  calmly,  applying,  as  she 
spoke,  a  good-sized  strip  over  one  eye,  while  the 
corner  of  Eunice's  mouth  disappeared  under  a 
black  patch. 

"  Oh,  Cricket,  how  funny  you  look  ! "  Eunice 
exclaimed,  when  she  had  completed  her  own 
face.  Cricket's  left  eye  had  vanished,  and  two 
long  strips  on  the  other  side,  right  over  her 
dimples,  completely  disguised  her.  She  had 
stuck  a  broad-brimmed,  ragged  hat  on  the  back 
of  her  curly  head,  and  streaked  what  was  visible 
of  her  face  and  her  hands  with  soot  from  the 
chimney. 

"You  are  the  funniest  girl!"   Eunice  cried, 


110  CRICKET. 

fairly  doubling  up  with  laughter,  as  Cricket 
extricated  a  little  black  paw  from  her  volu- 
minous coat  sleeve,  and  said,  in  a  whining 
voice,  — 

"  Please,  ma'am,  I'm  a  poor  widdy,  and  I  have 
seven  small  children,  and  my  wife  is  dead,  and 
I  'm  blind  and  deaf  and  dumb,  and  I  can't  talk 
on  account  of  my  bad  rheumatics,  and  will  you 
give  me  some  ice-cream  and  a  cup  of  coffee  ?  " 

After  they  had  laughed  themselves  sore,  they 
concluded  that  they  were  ready  to  set  out,  so 
they  stole  cautiously  down.  Eunice  had  bundled 
her  long  braid  on  top  of  her  head  under  a  bat- 
tered old  felt  hat,  jammed  well  over  her  ears, 
and  nobody  would  have  known  the  two  dirty 
little  wretches  that  crept  quietly  over  the  stairs. 
It  was  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  and  as  every- 
body was  napping,  the  coast  was  clear.  They 
slipped  out  the  side  door  into  the  shrubbery, 
and  through  that  to  the  road,  climbing  the  low 
stone  fence.  Then  they  came  up  the  lane  to 
the  back  door. 

Cook  was  nodding  on  the  shady  back  piazza, 
as  the  grotesque  little  figures  stole  up  the  steps. 
Cricket  crept  softly  up  and  laid  a  grimy  little 
finger  on  the  end  of  cook's  unconscious  nose. 


IN    THE    GARRET.  Ill 

Cook  opened  her  eyes  with  a  start. 

"Howly  Moses!"  she  howled,  thinking  she 
had  the  nightmare.  "  Get  away  wid  yer." 

"  I  'm  a  poor  widdy,"  whined  Cricket,  holding 
out  her  hand.  "  I  've  got  seven  small  children, 
and  my  back  is  so  lame  that  I  can't  talk." 

"  He  means  he  can't  work,"  struck  in  Eunice. 
"  He  does  n't  understand  English  very  well,  and 
he's  so  deaf  anyway,  he  can't  hear  what 
he  's  saying,"  she  explained  to  cook,  who  sat 
staring. 

"Please,  mum,  if  you've  any  very  nice 
chocolate  pudding,  I  feel  as  if  I  could  eat  a 
little,"  said  Cricket,  with  a  remembrance  of 
dessert.  "  I  had  a  very  light  breakfast,"  folding 
her  hands  over  the  pit  of  her  stomach. 

"I'll  light-breakfast  yer,  yer  young  imper- 
ence,"  growled  cook,  quite  awake  now.  "  Git 
off  these  premises  in  the  shake  o'  a  dyin'  lamb's 
tail,  or  I  '11  know  the  raison  whoy."  Cook  was  a 
large  woman,  and  as  she  slowly  rose  out  of  her 
chair,  she  towered  like  a  mountain  above  the 
children,  who  instinctively  dodged  her  threat- 
ening hand. 

"  Git  out  of  this,  immijit !  Shure  I  '11  have  no 
tramps  here." 


112  CRICKET. 

"  We  're  not  tramps,"  said  Eunice,  changing 
base.  "  We're  selling  things." 

"  It 's  selling  things  ye  are,  are  ye  ?  and 
shure,  where's  the  things  ye  're  af ther  sellin'  ? " 

"We're  selling  post-holes,"  said  Cricket, 
promptly,  as  her  eye  fell  on  a  particularly  large 
hole  near  by,  that  had  been  freshly  dug  for  a 
clothes-post.  "  We  've  brought  some  with  us." 

"Post-holes,  is  it?"  cried  cook,  enraged,  and 
suspecting  a  joke ;  "  we  '11  see  how  yer  like  post- 
holes,  drat  yer  imperence,"  and  before  Cricket 
could  dodge,  she  had  swung  her  by  the  shoul- 
ders off  the  steps,  and  jammed  her  very  forcibly 
into  the  hole. 

"  Sell  post-holes  again,  will  yer  ?  I  '11  sell  yer 
post-holes  for  yer !  "  cried  cook,  angrily. 

"  Stop,  cook ! "  screamed  Eunice,  hanging  on 
her  arm ;  "  it 's  Cricket,  cook,  and  it 's  me." 

Cook  paused  with  uplifted  arm,  and  Cricket, 
decidedly  the  worse  for  wear,  took  the  oppor- 
tunity to  scramble  out  of  the  hole,  exclaiming, 
"  We  're  only  pretending,  cook,  and  we  truly 
did  n't  mean  to  scare  you  so  badly." 

Cook  looked  down  on  the  little  figures,  about 
a  third  as  large  as  herself,  and  laughed  grimly. 

"  Scare  me,  is  it  ?     Shure,  I  think  the  shoe 's 


IN    THE    GARRET.  113 

on  the  other  fut.  But  you  're  always  up  to  your 
tricks." 

"Oh,  you  didn't  really  scare  me,"  said 
Cricket,  "only  you  did  hurt  me  a  little  when 
you  grabbed  me  by  the  nape  of  the  arm.  But  I 
would  n't  have  told  if  Eunice  had  n't." 

«  But  I  did  n't  want  you  to  get  hurt,  Cricket. 
Come  on,  let's  go  into  the  orchard  and  get 
some  harvest  apples.  Good-by,  cook,"  and  the 
little  tramps  ran  off,  hand  in  hand. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE    TRAMPS. 

ONCE  in  the  orchard,  they  felt  as  if  their  feet 
were  on  their  native  heath,  and  they  were  up, 
in  a  twinkling,  among  the  branches  of  their 
favourite  tree. 

In  the  munching  of  apples  they  quite  forgot 
that  they  were  tramps,  until  Cricket  remarked 
that  her  hump  made  a  most  convenient  pillow 
for  her  to  lean  back  against. 

"These  clothes  are  getting  awfully  hot, 
Cricket,"  said  Eunice.  "  I  would  n't  be  a  boy 
for  anything  I  can  think  of,  to  wear  such  things 
all  the  time." 

"  I  think  girls  are  nicer  than  boys,  anyway," 
remarked  Cricket,  thoughtfully.  "  Girls  are 
always  smarter,  and  I  think  it  makes  boys  mad." 

"  Will  always  says  if  anything  is  n't  just  right 
that  we  do,  that  it 's  just  like  a  girl,"  -returned 
Eunice,  in  an  aggrieved  tone. 

"  Yes,  boys  are  just  so  funny,  but  I  don't 
mind,"  said  Cricket,  philosophically. 


THE    TRAMPS.  115 

"I've  about  made  up  my  mind,"  pursued 
Eunice, "  that  I  sha'n't  get  married  when  I  grow 
up.  Husbands  are  such  a  'sponsibility.  Mam- 
ma, you  know,  always  fixes  papa's  cravats  for 
him,  and  he  never,  never  goes  to  the  right 
drawer  for  his  clean  shirts.  It's  so  funny! 
Shall  you  get  married,  Cricket  ?  " 

Cricket  considered  the  question. 

"I  think,"  she  said,  after  some  reflection, 
"  that  if  I  don't  go  to  Africa  as  a  missionary, 
that  I  'd  rather  be  a  widow  with  an  only  son." 

"  But  Cricket,"  exclaimed  Eunice,  "  you  'd 
have  to  be  married  first  if  you  were  a  widow." 

"  Why,  so  I  should !  "  returned  Cricket,  much 
surprised.  "  I  did  n't  think  of  that.  You  see, 
Aunt  Kate  and  Harry  have  such  nice  times 
travelling  round  together,  and  there's  Aunt 
Helen  and  Max,  too.  I  was  thinking  of  them, 
and  I  forgot  they  were  ever  married." 

"  I  think  I  '11  be  a  doctor,  like  papa,"  went  on 
Eunice,  "  or  else  I  'd  like  to  be  a  stage-driver. 
Whoa !  get  up  there  !  So,  boy  !  "  she  said, 
slapping  imaginary  reins,  for  Eunice  was  a  born 
horsewoman. 

"  These  clothes  are  awfully  hot,  Eunice,"  said 
Cricket,  returning  to  the  original  topic. 


116  CKICKET. 

"  Let 's  go  and  take  them  off  now." 

Eunice  was  quite  willing,  so  they  clambered 
down,  chattering  and  laughing  still. 

At  a  little  distance  stood  old  Thomas,  at- 
tracted by  their  voices.  He  had  been  coining 
through  the  orchard,  and  he  saw  up  in  the  tree 
what  he  thought  were  two  ragamuffins,  stealing 
apples,  and  he  was  lying  in  wait  for  their 
descent.  As  they  slipped  down,  and  swung  off 
from  a  low  branch,  he  darted  forward,  and 
caught  one  of  them  in  his  arms.  Of  course,  it 
chanced  to  be  Cricket. 

"  I  've  caught  ye  now,  ye  young  rascal !  I  '11 
teach  yer  to  steal  our  apples ! " 

"  Why,  Thomas !  "  cried  Cricket,  «  don't  you 
know  me  ?  " 

"  Yer  bet  I  know  yer.  I  've  been  watchin' 
for  yer  this  long  time  back.  I  'low  I  '11  give  yer 
a  trouncin'  that  yer  '11  remember  for  one  while, 
yer  young  scallawags ! "  Thomas  cried,  holding 
the  struggling  child  by  the  shoulder,  and  bring- 
ing his  stick  whack  across  her  back.  The  big 
pillow  saved  her  from  the  blow,  and  Eunice 
again  flew  to  the  rescue.  She  managed  to  get 
hold  of  the  stick,  and  clung  to  it  with  both  her 
strong  little  hands. 


THE    TRAMPS.  117 

"  Don't  you  know  us,  Thomas  ? "  both  children 
cried.  "We're  not  stealing  apples;  they're 
ours." 

"  Yourn,  be  they  ?  I  '11  teach  yer  if  they're 
yourn,  yer  young  impidence ! "  Thomas  cried, 
angrily,  drowning  the  children's  protests  in  his 
loud  tones.  "  I  've  been  on  the  lookout  fer  ye, 
stealin'  my  apples  and  melins,  and  garden  truck. 
I  '11  hev  ye  up  before  the  doctor.  He  said  he 
saw  two  strange  boys  scootin'  round  the  orchard 
'sarternoon ;  and  now  I  've  caught  yer,  I  '11 
teach  yer  to  steal  apples  and  sich,"  shaking  her 
till  her  teeth  knocked  together,  and  her  arms 
flew  about  like  a  wind-mill. 

Then  he  tightened  his  clutch  upon  the  unfor- 
tunate Cricket,  who  was  quite  overcome  by  this 
second  attack,  and  grasping  Eunice  by  the  arm, 
he  started  off,  dragging  the  protesting  children. 

"  Let  us  alone,  Thomas,"  screamed  Cricket,  at 
the  top  of  her  lungs.  "  We  —  're  —  not  —  boys 
-at  — all." 

"  Yer  don't  come  none  o'  yer  stuff  over  me," 
was  all  the  answer  Thomas  vouchsafed,  still 
dragging  them  on  with  relentless  hands. 

"  But  it 's  Cricket,"  cried  that  victim,  despair- 
ingly. 


118  CRICKET. 

Thomas  dropped  his  hold  so  suddenly  that 
Cricket  sat  down  very  unexpectedly.  Eunice 
pulled  off  her  battered  felt  hat,  and  her  long 
braid  fell  down  her  back. 

Thomas,  who  had  been  completely  taken  in, 
stared  at  them. 

"  Why  did  n't  ye  say  so  before  ?  "  he  said,  at 
length.  "  Gittin'  yerselves  up  in  such  rigs  that 
yer  own  mar  would  n't  ha'  knowed  ye.  Kep'  a 
sayin'  '  We  're  not  boys,  we  're  not  boys,'  when 
anyone  with  half  an  eye  could  see  ye  was. 
Henderin'  me  outer  half  an  arternoon's  work," 
and  Thomas  went  off,  disgusted. 

The  children  looked  at  each  other  and  burst  out 
laughing.  Their  disguise  had  been  altogether 
too  successful.  Cricket  rubbed  her  shoulder 
comically. 

"  I  guess  Thomas's  fingers  are  tipped  with 
steel,"  she  said.  "  I  know  I  'm  all  black  and 
blue." 

"  Poor  Cricket,"  said  Eunice,  sympathetically. 
"  First  you  were  jammed  into  a  hole  and  then 
you  were  shaken  to  jelly.  I  don't  see  why  he 
did  n't  grab  me." 

"It's  a  peculiar  concidence,"  said  Cricket, 
meaning  coincidence.  "  No  matter  who 's 


THE    TRAMPS.  119 

around,  /  always  am  grabbed.  Let's  go  and 
get  some  plums." 

There  were  some  choice  early  plums  near  the 
front  of  the  house,  and  the  children  gathered 
a  good  supply  and  retired  into  a  little  rustic 
arbour  to  eat  them.  Presently  a  carriage  full 
of  callers  rolled  up  the  avenue. 

"  Dear  me  ;  it 's  the  Saunders,"  said  Cricket, 
peeping  out,  "  and  there 's  Irene  Saunders. 
Gracious,  Eunice,  mamma  '11  be  looking  for 
us  in  a  minute !  Let 's  skip  round  to  the 
side-door  as  soon  as  they're  in  the  house." 

But  to  their  dismay,  they  heard  the  ladies 
say  to  the  maid, — 

"  It 's  so  charming  on  this  lovely  piazza, 
that  we  will  wait  here  for  Mrs.  Ward." 

The  piazza  was  a  delightful  place,  twelve  feet 
broad,  and  supplied  with  lounging  chairs  of 
every  description,  a  table,  magazines,  hammocks, 
cushions  and  rugs,  and  sufficiently  shaded  by 
vines  to  soften  the  sunlight.  But  the  arbour 
where  the  children  were  was  in  full  view. 

"  Shall  we  go,  anyway  ?  "  asked  Eunice,  but 
before  they  could  get  out,  Dr.  Ward  came 
round  the  house,  and  greeted  the  guests  on  the 
piazza. 


120  CKICKET. 

"  Now,  what  shall  we  do  ? "  said  Cricket,  in 
despair.  "  If  papa  sees  us  he  '11  certainly  think 
we  are  tramps,  too.  I  heard  him  tell  Thomas, 
the  other  day,  that  tramps  were  getting  so 
thick,  he  might  have  to  set  the  dog  on  some 
of  them.  I  don't  think  I  could  stand  any  more 
knocking  round." 

"  Well,  let 's  wait,"  said  Eunice,  for  there 
seemed  to  be  nothing  else  to  do. 

Just  then  Mrs.  Ward  appeared,  and  after  a 
moment  there  were  inquiries  for  Cricket  and 
Eunice.  The  children  were  near  enough  to 
hear  every  word. 

"  I  wrant  my  sister  to  see  your  little  flock, 
Mrs.  Ward,"  said  Mrs.  Saunders,  graciously, 
"for  you  know  we  all  think  they  are  the 
show-children  of  the  neighbourhood."  Mrs. 
Saunders  was  a  woman  of  much  means  and 
little  cultivation,  who  had  lately  taken  a 
summer  home  in  Wellsboro. 

Accordingly  the  twins  and  Kenneth  were 
soon  produced,  for  they  were  fresh  from  the 
nurse's  hands. 

"And  Cricket?"  said  Mrs.  Saunders,  again, 
presently.  "  She  is  such  a  charming  child  — 
so  original  and  interesting." 


THE    TRAMPS.  121 

"  Oh  ! "  groaned  Cricket,  in  the  arbour. 

"Children,"  said  Mrs.  Ward  to  the  twins, 
"  you  may  go,  please,  and  see  if  you  and  Eliza 
can 't  find  Cricket  and  Eunice.  Kenneth,  you 
take  Irene  down  to  the  flower-beds,  and  you 
may  pick  a  big  bunch  of  nasturtiums." 

The  nasturtium  bed  was  dangerously  near  the 
arbour.  Cricket  and  Eunice  scarcely  breathed. 
The  little  ones  picked  the  flowers  and  chatted 
together. 

"What  a  pretty  little  house,"  said  Irene, 
presently,  noticing  the  arbour.  "  Is  it  your 
house,  Kenneth  ?  What 's  in  it  ?  "  She  pushed 
apart  the  vines  and  peeped  through  the  lattice. 

The  next  moment  the  grown  people  were 
startled  by  the  little  ones'  cries  of  terror. 
Frightened  by  the  unexpected  sight  of  the 
queer-looking  creatures  in  the  arbour,  they  ran 
screaming  toward  the  house. 

"There!"  said  Cricket,  desperately.  "We 
might  as  well  go  out.  Children  are  the  curious- 
est  things." 

"  There 's  dretful  things  there  ! "  screamed 
Irene,  flying  to  her  mother. 

Dr.  Ward  came  quickly  down  the  steps  to  in- 
vestigate. 


122  CRICKET. 

Then  he  stopped  and  stared  in  astonishment ; 
and  so  did  everybody  else,  as  the  grotesque  little 
figures  came  slowly  out  of  the  arbour. 

"  It's  only  me,  papa,"  Cricket  said,  dejectedly ; 
"  we  have  been  dressing-up." 

By  this  time  they  were  veritable  scare-crows. 
Cricket's  hump  was  well  wedged  up  under  one 
shoulder,  and  soot,  dirt  and  court-plaster,  com- 
bined with  the  effects  of  the  heat,  made  a 
little  black-a-moor  of  her.  Her  hat  hung 
over  one  ear,  and  her  curly  crop  was  all  on 
end.  Eunice's  long  hair  was  loosened  from  its 
braid,  and  hung  over  her  back  in  a  rough,  black 


Cutting  off  the  trousers  to  make  them  short 
enough  had  left  the  upper  part  of  them  so  very 
long  that  walking  was  difficult,  except  by  a  con- 
stant hitching  up  of  the  band,  and  their  slender 
little  legs  looked  like  very  small  clappers  in 
very  big  bells. 

The  doctor  kept  his  gravity  with  difficulty,  and 
the  guests  looked  on  in  polite  astonishment  at 
the  remarkable  apparitions,  for  a  moment,  and 
then  everybody  laughed. 

Mrs.  Ward  recovered  herself  immediately. 

"  Mrs.  Saunders,"  she  said,  resignedly,  "  this  is 


THE    TRAMPS.  123 

Cricket,  my  charming  and  original  child,  if 
you  will  pardon  my  repeating  your  words.  But 
I  am  sure  this  is  a  case  when  distance  will  lend 
enchantment  to  your  opinion  of  her.  You  may 
go,  Cricket." 

And  the  shamefaced  children  gladly  fled. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

MAMIE    HECKEE. 

ACCORDING  to  the  children's  ideas,  one  of  the 
funniest  things  about  living  in  the  country  was 
that  eggs  could  be  used  as  money. 

It  was  such  a  delightfully  simple  way  of  get- 
ting candy.  One  could  go  to  the  barns,  find  two 
eggs,  and,  with  one  in  each  hand,  march  off  to 
the  corner  grocery-store  and  get  their  value  in 
chocolate-sticks,  if  you  liked  chocolate.  If  not, 
why,  four  marsh -mallows,  rather  stale  and 
floury,  to  be  sure,  but  just  as  nice  for  toasting, 
could  be  had  for  one  egg. 

It  always  seemed  remarkably  like  getting 
candy  for  nothing,  and  "egg-candy,"  as  they 
called  it,  was  certainly  much  more  delicious  than 
that  for  which  one  paid  just  ordinary,  every-day 
pennies. 

There  were  many  errands  to  be  done  in  so 
large  a  family,  and  as  mamma  believed  that 
every  child  should  be  brought  up  to  be  useful, 
Cricket  and  Eunice  were  very  apt  to  be  the 


MAMIE   HECKER.  125 

"leggers,"  as  they  called  it.  They  usually  sold 
their  services  for  an  egg  or  two  apiece. 

"Well,  young  women,"  said  Dr.  Ward,  one 
morning,  "  I  am  in  search  of  a  pair  of  messen- 
gers of  just  about  your  size." 

"  All  right,  papa.  You  can  have  them  on  the 
usual  terms,"  answered  Cricket,  importantly. 

"You're  a  regular  pair  of  Jews,  you  two," 
laughed  papa,  teasingly.  "  You  do  nothing  for 
nothing.  Don't  you  think  you  ought  to  run  on 
errands  for  love?  I  work  for  your  board  and 
clothes,  and  certainly  you  should  do  errands  for 
me." 

"No,  I  shouldn't,"  returned  Cricket,  hugging 
him.  "I  love  you  in  return  for  that,  and  I  cut 
your  magazines  for  you,  too.  That's  plenty 
of  pay.  The  errands  are  my  persquisites. 
Cook  says  everybody  ought  to  have  persquisites." 

"  Oh,  that 's  it.  On  the  ground  of  persquisites, 
then,  I'm  perfectly  willing  to  pay." 

"  And  then,  of  course,"  went  on  Cricket,  "  I 
would  be  willing  to  do  an  errand  for  nothing, 
very  socionally" — she  meant  occasionally  — 
"just  to  be  obliging,  you  know." 

"  That's  very  kind  of  you,  I'm  sure,"  laughed 
papa.  "  Now,  then,  I  want  you  to  go  to  Mr. 


126  CRICKET. 

Henry  Barnes,  and  give  him  this  note,  and  wait 
for  an  answer.  It's  important.  Then,  when 
you  come  back,  you  can  go  to  the  barns  and  get 
two  eggs  apiece,  and  go  to  the  store  if  you  want 
to.  When  you  come  back,  mind.  I  want  the 
note  carried  directly." 

"  All  right,  sir,"  answered  Cricket,  taking  the 
note,  and  away  scampered  the  little  "  leggers  " 
for  their  broad-brimmed  hats. 

It  goes  without  saying  that  Cricket's  could 
not  be  found,  and  at  last  she  recollected  she  had 
dropped  it  yesterday,  down  into  the  dry  well  in 
the  lower  pasture,  and  had  forgotten  to  get  it 
again. 

"  Can't  I  wear  my  best  one,  mamma  ?  "  she 


"No,  my  dear,  certainly  not,"  answered 
mamma,  not  knowing  it  was  necessary  that 
the  note  should  be  taken  immediately.  "  You 
know  that  is  the  rule  always.  If  you  will  be 
careless  and  leave  your  things  about,  you  must 
find  them." 

So  the  children  ran  down  to  the  lower  pasture 
after  the  hat.  It  took  some  time  to  recover  it, 
and  then  they  had  forgotten  that  there  was  any 
necessity  for  haste. 


MAMIE   HECKER.  127 

"  Let 's  take  the  ponies,"  said  Eunice,  as  they 
came  back  from  the  pasture,  "  and  ride  around 
the  lake-road  home.  I  have  n't  been  there  since 
I  fell  in." 

"We  can't,"  said  Cricket.  "Mike  said  yes- 
terday that  Charcoal's  shoe  was  loose,  and  he 
must  take  him  to  the  blacksmith's  this  morning. 
I  saw  him  going  right  after  breakfast,  and  he 
is  n't  home  yet." 

"  Oh,  bother !  then  we  '11  have  to  walk,"  said 
Eunice.  But  the  walk  looked  very  inviting,  as 
they  turned  out  of  the  avenue  into  the  shady 
road.  It  wound  down  the  hill,  over  the  Kayuna, 
and  swept  around  the  curve  out  of  sight. 

Just  over  the  bridge  was  the  farmer's  house, 
a  low,  white  building,  half  hidden  in  the  trees. 
As  the  two  little  girls  passed,  they  saw  a  frowzy- 
headed  child  of  seven  swinging  on  the  gate. 

"  H'lo !  "  she  called.     "  Where  you  goin'  ?  " 

"Somewhere  to  make  little  girls  ask  ques- 
tions," replied  Eunice,  teasingly. 

"  I  'm  goin',  too,"  cried  the  child,  scrambling 
down  off  the  gate. 

Now  Mamie  Hecker,  the  farmer's  little  daugh- 
ter, always  wanted  to  "  go  too,"  whenever  she 
saw  the  children  pass.  She  was  a  whining,  dirty, 


128  CRICKET. 

disagreeable  little  thing,  and  always  made  her- 
self very  unpleasant.  She  stuck  to  the  children 
like  a  burr,  and  oftentimes  they  would  go  far  out 
of  their  way,  if  they  saw  her  in  the  distance,  to 
avoid  her  tagging  after  them.  So  when  she  now 
got  off  the  gate  and  came  up,  chewing  her  sun- 
bonnet  string,  as  usual,  the  two  little  girls  ex- 
changed vexed  glances. 

"  You  can't  come,  too,"  said  Cricket,  de- 
cidedly. 

"  Yes,  I  can,  too,  you  're  goin'  to  the  store 
to  get  some  candy  an'  I  want  some,  too,"  cried 
Mamie,  dancing  around  them. 

"  No,  we  're  not,  either.  We  're  going  for  a 
-long  walk,  and  you  can't  come  one  step,"  said 
Eunice,  looking  very  determined,  as  they  walked 
on. 

"  I  will  come,  too !  I  will ! "  cried  Mamie, 
catching  hold  of  her  dress,  and  trotting  along. 

"  Don't  you  dare  touch  my  dress  with  your 
dirty  little  fingers,"  cried  Eunice,  pulling  her 
fresh  gingham  frock  indignantly  out  of  Mamie's 
hands. 

Mamie  Hecker  was  one  of  those  disagreeable 
children  that  give  everyone  a  desire  to  box  their 
ears,  no  matter  what  they  do.  Truth  to  tell,  she 


MAMIE    HECKER.  129 

generally  deserved  it,  for  her  mother  spoiled 
her.  She  was  almost  the  only  person  that  upset 
Cricket's  sweet  temper,  and  Cricket  now  looked 
as  if  she  could  bite  her. 

"Oh,  Cricket!"  exclaimed  Eunice,  stopping 
short.  "Have  you  papa's  note?" 

"No,  I  thought  you  had,"  said  Cricket,  in 
dismay. 

"  We  must  have  left  it  by  the  dry  well,  then," 
said  Eunice,  turning.  "  We  must  go  and  find  it. 
Now,  we  're  going  home  again,"  she  added  to 
Mamie,  "  so  you  need  n't  tag  any  more.  Horrid 
little  tag-tail,  anyway." 

Cricket  and  Eunice  ran  back  up  the  road, 
jumped  over  the  fence,  and  raced  across  to  the 
pasture.  Much  to  their  relief,  the  white  enve- 
lope still  lay  where  they  had  left  it. 

Cricket  picked  it  up,  and  put  it  safely  in  her 
pocket  this  time,  and  then  the  children  walked 
more  deliberately  back. 

"Let's  get  our  eggs  now,"  Eunice  said,  as 
they  passed  near  the  barn,  "  and  skip  around 
to  the  store  the  back  way  and  get  some  candy, 
so  we  '11  have  it  to  eat  on  the  way.  I  'm  awfully 
hungry." 

"  All  right,  and  Mamie  Hecker  won't  see  us, 


130  CRICKET. 

either,"  assented  Cricket,  entirely  forgetting  her 
father's  order  to  do  the  errand  first.  So  they 
turned  towards  the  barns.  They  had  to  search 
some  little  time  for  eggs,  for  the  hens  were  late 
about  their  usual  duties. 

"  Plaguey  things,"  said  Cricket,  "  and  there  's 
lots  of  hens  standing  'round  doing  nothing." 

"  Oh,  here 's  a  nest,"  called  Eunice, "  with  two 
eggs  in  it,  and  here 's  a  hen  on  — 

Cricket  unceremoniously  slipped  her  hand 
under  the  hen  and  whisked  her  off.  A  warm 
white  egg  lay  in  the  nest. 

"  She  was  just  going  to  cluck,  anyway," 
said  Cricket,  as  the  hen  clucked  indignantly. 
"  Say,  cut-a-cut-ca-da-cut,  if  you  want  to,  and 
don't  scold  so.  Your  egg  is  all  right.  Here  's 
another  in  this  nest.  That 's  four.  Come  on." 

They  went  out  the  side-door  of  the  barn,  in- 
tending to  run  across  the  orchard  and  into  the 
back  door  of  the  store,  and  then  to  take  a  cut 
over  the  fields  to  the  main  road  again.  This 
would  bring  them  out  below  the  Heckers' 
house. 

To  their  great  disgust,  however,  just  outside 
the  barnyard,  they  found  Mamie  Hecker  lurk- 
ing. 


MAMIE    HECKER.  131 

"  I  seen  yer,"  she  said,  triumphantly.  "  You  've 
got  some  eggs,  and  you  're  agoin'  to  the  store 
to  swap  them  for  some  candy.  I'm  agoin', 
too." 

"  Now,  Mamie  Hecker,"  said  Eunice,  stopping 
angrily,  "  you  can  go  straight  home.  You 
shan't  go  one  step  with  us." 

Mamie  squinted  up  her  impish  little  black 
eyes,  provokingly. 

"  Road's  mine  as  much  as  yours,"  she  said, 
dancing  around,  in  a  way  peculiar  to  herself. 
"  You  can't  help  my  walkin'  in  it." 

"  You  shan't  come  with  us,"  said  Eunice, 
stubbornly,  ignoring  that  point. 

"  I  '11  come  as  far  as  my  father's  fence,  any 
way,"  said  Mamie,  walking  backwards  in  front 
of  them. 

"  You  're  a  horrid,  mean,  little  copy-cat," 
said  Cricket,  wrathfully.  "  I  should  n't  think 
you  'd  like  to  come  where  you  're  not  wanted." 

"I  don't  keer,"  returned  Mamie,  carelessly. 
"  I  want  some  candy." 

"  We  've  given  you  candy,  and  we've  given  you 
candy,"  said  Cricket,  "  and  the  more  we  give 
you,  the  more  you  want.  You  shall  not  go  one 
step  with  us  to-day." 


132  CRICKET. 

"  I  '11  go  as  far  as  my  pa's  fence  goes,  any- 
way," repeated  Mamie,  skipping  along,  "  '  n'  I  '11 
go  further  if  I  wanter." 

"  Mamie  Hecker,"  said  Eunice,  stopping  sud- 
denly, "  if  you  go  one  step  further  than  your 
father's  fence,  —  I  '11  spank  you." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

LYNCH   LAW. 

MAMIE  looked  considerably  startled.  Pro- 
voking little  imp  as  she  was,  the  girls  had  never 
actually  touched  her. 

"  You  dassent,"  she  said,  unbelievingly,  after 
a  moment.  "  You  dassent  tetch  me." 

"Yes,  I  do  dare,  and  1  will,"  said  Eunice, 
firmly. 

The  children  had  been  walking  on  through 
the  orchard,  during  the  dispute,  Mamie  keeping 
along  by  the  fence.  They  were  close  to  the 
corner  now,  where  a  gate  opened. 

"Don't  you  follow  us  one  step  beyond  that 
gate."  Eunice  looked  so  determined  that 
Mamie  thought  she  had  better  try  to  make 
terms. 

"  If  I  don't  go  no  further,"  she  said,  hanging 
on  to  the  gate,  "  will  you  give  me  candy  when 
you  come  back  ?  " 

"  No,  I  won't.  We  're  not  coming  back  this 
way." 


134  CKICKET. 

"  Then  I  '11  come,  too,"  said  Mamie,  suddenly 
deciding  to  risk  it. 

Cricket  and  Eunice  went  slowly  through 
the  gate.  Eunice  looked  like  a  high  execu- 
tioner. 

Mamie  hesitated  a  moment,  then  slowly  fol- 
lowed after. 

"  I'm  a-comiii',"  she  called,  rashly,  bringing 
her  fate  on  her  own  head. 

Eunice  turned  around  very  promptly. 

"  Cricket,  please  hold  my  eggs  for  me.  Now, 
Mamie  Hecker,  if  you  step  over  that  stick, — 
you'll  see." 

Mamie  immediately  took  a  step  forward,  keep- 
ing her  eye  on  Eunice,  intending  to  dodge  at 
the  last  moment.  Eunice  stood  perfectly  still. 
She  was  a  tall,  strongly-built  girl,  for  her  age, 
and  quite  capable  of  carrying  out  her  threat. 
Mamie  Hecker  had  always  been  a  thorn  in  her 
flesh,  and  there  were  a  thousand  provoking 
things  in  the  past  to  punish  her  for. 

Mamie  took  another  step.  Eunice  looked 
indifferent.  Another  step,  and  she  stood  by  the 
stick  that  was  her  Rubicon.  Eunice  looked  up 
at  the  sky.  Mamie  put  her  foot  cautiously  over 
the  stick,  ready  to  fly  at  Eunice's  first  move- 


CHH'KKT    AND    EUNICE    THREATEN    TO    PUNISH    MAMIE. 


LYNCH    LAW.  137 

ment.  Eunice  seemed  not  to  see  her.  Mamie 
took  another  step  and  was  fairly  over. 

Eunice  swooped  down  upon  her  like  a  hawk, 
and  grabbed  her  skirt,  as  the  child  dodged, 
shrieking.  She  caught  her,  struggling,  and, 
with  a  deft  sweep  of  her  arm,  a  trick  learned 
in  playing  foot-ball  with  the  boys,  she  brought 
Mamie  into  approved  spanking  position,  and 
then  and  there  gave  her  a  punishment  which  she 
always  richly  deserved,  but  which  it  was  her 
mother's  place,  not  Eunice's,  to  give  her. 

Mamie  shrieked  at  the  top  of  her  lungs, 
"  Eunice  is  killin'  me  !  Eunice  is  killin'  me  ! " 

"  Do  hold  her  mouth,  Cricket,"  said  Eunice, 
spanking  on.  "  Horrid  little  thing  !  I  '11  give 
her  something  to  cry  for,  for  once." 

Cricket  came  nearer,  with  her  eggs  still  in 
her  hand.  Mamie's  wildly  kicking  feet  gave 
her  a  vigorous  thump  in  the  stomach,  that  un- 
expectedly doubled  her  up  like  a  jack-knife, 
crushing  her  eggs  which  she  still  held  in  her 
hand. 

"  Children  !  "  suddenly  came  a  well-known 
voice  behind  them.  "  What  does  this  disgrace- 
ful scene  mean  ? " 

There  stood  Doctor  Ward  and  Archie.     Eu- 


138  CRICKET. 

nice's  hand  dropped  instantly,  and  she  released 
her  kicking  victim.  Mamie  righted  herself,  and 
flew  at  her,  screaming.  Cricket  rose  slowly  out 
of  the  dust,  pushing  back  her  hair,  with  egg- 
stained  hands,  that  left  a  yellow  plaster  on  her 
curly  pate.  Her  blue  cambric  was  smeared 
from  neck  to  hem  with  rivers  of  egg.  Eunice's 
hat  was  off,  her  hair  streaming  wildly  over  her 
shoulders,  her  cheeks  scarlet,  and  her  eyes 
flashing.  Mamie  had  torn  her  dress  badly,  and 
both  girls  were  a  spectacle. 

Doctor  Ward  caught  Mamie  by  the  shoulder, 
with  a  strong  hand. 

"  Be  quiet,  child,"  he  said,  sternly.  "  Girls, 
what  does  all  this  mean?  Have  you  been  to 
Mr.  Barnes  ?  " 

"  No,  papa,"  faltered  Cricket,  suddenly  con- 
science-smitten. In  her  excitement,  she  had 
entirely  forgotten  that  they  had  been  sent  on  an 
important  errand. 

"  Not  yet  ?  And  I  sent  you  two  hours  ago. 
Where  is  the  note  ?  " 

"  Here  it  is,"  and  Cricket  produced  from  her 
pocket  a  very  crumpled  envelope,  which  looked 
as  if  it  had  seen  hard  service. 

"  This  ?     Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  this  is 


LYNCH    LAW.  139 

the  note  I  gave  you?  I  certainly  can't  send 
this.  Archie,  will  you  go  to  Mr.  Barnes  for  me, 
and  tell  him  —  no,  I  must  write  him  again. 
He  should  have  had  this  an  hour  ago,  for  he 
will  be  gone  to  town,  and  he  should  have  had  it 
before  he  left.  Cricket,  you  have  put  me  in  a 
very  unpleasant  position." 

"  Oh,  papa,  I  am  so  sorry ! "  said  Cricket, 
miserably.  "  First  we  forgot  this  note,  and  had 
to  go  back." 

"  That 's  a  baby  trick.  I  thought  you  were 
getting  over  that.  Go  on." 

"  Then  we  thought  we  'd  get  the  eggs  and  go 
to  the  store  first,  so  as  to  have  the  candy  to  eat 
on  the  way ;  and  Mamie  said  she  'd  go,  and  I 
said  she  should  n't,  and  Eunice  said  she  'd  spank 
her  if  she  did, —  horrid  little  thing ;  and  she  did, 
and  Eunice  spanked  her,  and  she  kicked  me  and 
broke  my  eggs,"  finished  Cricket,  rapidly. 

Doctor  Ward's  mouth  twitched  a  little  under 
his  moustache,  although  he  was  seriously  an- 
noyed that  the  note  had  not  reached  its  destina- 
tion in  time.  He  knew  very  well  what  a 
torment  Mamie  was  to  everyone,  and  he  did 
not  in  his  heart  blame  the  girls  for  taking  the 
law  into  their  own  hands.  However,  he  said  : 


140  CEICKET. 

"  You  have  disobeyed  me,  children.  I  told 
you  to  go  directly  with  the  note,  and  get  your 
candy  afterwards.  Your  disobedience  is  the 
cause  of  your  very  unladylike  display  of  temper. 
You  can  both  go  to  the  house.  Mamie,  you  may 
go  home  also.  See  that  hereafter  you  do  not 
follow  or  tease  the  girls,  and  I  will  see  that  they 
never  touch  you  again." 

Cricket  and  Eunice  walked  soberly  up  to  the 
house,  meek  enough  in  appearance,  but  really 
deeply  indignant.  To  be  sent  away  in  disgrace 
before  that  horrid  little  Mamie  Hecker  !  She 
was  dancing  around  at  a  safe  distance,  calling 
after  them,  jeeringly, — 

"  Oh,  ho !  Who 's  caught  it  now !  Spank  me 
again,  will  yer? " 

Dr.  Ward  marched  the  two  little  girls  into  the 
house,  and  ordered  them  both  off  to  be  made 
presentable  again,  and  then  to  come  to  the 
library. 

Fifteen  minutes  later,  two  clean,  but  very 
solemn-looking  children  presented  themselves 
at  the  library-door. 

"  Children,"  began  Dr.  Ward,  sternly,  as  they 
stood  before  him,  "  you  have  disobeyed  me.  I 
told  you  to  go  immediately  on  an  errand,  and  you 


LYNCH  LAW.  141 

loitered.  The  fact  that  the  note  happened  to  be 
important,  does  not  render  your  disobedience 
any  more  serious,  remember,  although  it  makes 
the  consequences  more  serious  for  me.  You 
also  gave  way,  both  of  you,  to  a  very  unlady- 
like display  of  temper.  As  a  punishment,  I 
shall  keep  you  apart  all  day.  You  must  not 
even  speak  to  each  other.  Eunice,  you  may  go 
to  your  mother,  and  she  will  give  you  something 
to  do,  and  Cricket  may  stay  here  in  the  library 
till  dinner-time.  You  may  learn  something  to 
occupy  your  time.  Let  me  see.  You  may  sit 
down  and  learn  your  Sunday-school  lesson  for 
to-morrow." 

"  Oh,  papa  !  "  groaned  Cricket,  at  the  thought 
of  really  losing  that  beautiful  day  out-of-doors. 
"  Please,  please  do  something  to  us  and  let  us 
go !  I  'd  truly  rather  you  'd  give  me  three  hard 
slaps  with  your  ruler." 

"  My  dear  little  girl,"  said  the  doctor,  "  you 
know  I  could  not  possibly  give  you  three  hard 
slaps,  or  even  one  hard  slap,  with  the  ruler ;  for 
that  would  hurt  me  rather  more  than  it  would 
you,  and  I  think  it  is  you  two  that  deserve  pun- 
ishment." 

"  I  '11  go  to  bed  earlier  to-night,  then,  a  whole 


142  CRICKET. 

hour,"  pleaded  Cricket,  "  if  you  will  only  let  us 
speak  to  each  other.  I  know  we  were  dread- 
fully careless  about  the  note,  but  I  won't  forget 
again,  truly,  at  least  not  for  a  long  time." 

"  No,  it  must  stand  as  I  said,  my  dear.  Be- 
sides, you  know  you  lost  your  tempers  disgrace- 
fully with  that  little  Mamie." 

"  You  need  n't  take  the  trouble  to  punish  us 
for  spanking  that  Mamie,"  Cricket  burst  out,  on 
this,  fairly  swelling  with  wrath  at  the  remem- 
brance. "She  just  needed  it,  papa,  for  she's 
such  a  horrid  little  thing,  and  such  a  tag-tail, 
and  her  mother  never  spanks  her." 

"  And  anyway,  papa,"  struck  in  Eunice,  her 
eyes  flashing  still,  "  I  don't  mind  if  you  do  pun- 
ish me  for  that,  for  it  was  such  a  satisfaction." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  papa,  coughing  behind  his 
hand.  "  I  really  think  you  won't  do  that  again. 
And  the  next  time  you  think  that  Mamie  needs 
punishment,  don't  try  lynch-law,  but  refer  to  the 
higher  powers." 

"  I  will,  papa.     What  is  lynch-law  ?  " 

"  Lynch-law,  my  dear,  is  the  process  of  inflict- 
ing punishment,  by  private  persons,  for  crimes 
or  offences,  without  reference  to  law.  That  is, 
you  know,  that  however  disagreeable  Mamie 


LYKCS    LAW.  143 

may  be,  and  however  much  she  annoys  you,  you 
really  had  no  right  to  touch  her.  You  should 
have  consulted  your  mother  or  me  long  ago,  be- 
fore things  came  to  this  pass.  We  are  the  law, 
in  this  case.  Instead  "of  this,  you  took  the  law 
into  your  own  hands,  and  the  consequence  is 
that  the  law  now  takes  you  in  hand.  However, 
I  am  willing  to  consider  the  mitigating  circum- 
stances—  that  means  what  excuse  you  had  — 
and  we  will  say  that  you  two  must  remain  apart 
till  dinner-time,  and  meditate  on  the  beauty  of 
the  virtue  of  instant  obedience." 

"  Oh,  papa,"  cried  Cricket,  hugging  him  well, 
willing  to  take  her  punishment  now  that  the 
merited  lecture  was  over,  "  next  time  that  you 
send  me  with  a  note  I'll  go  like  a  little  spider, 
you '11  see!" 

But  I  regret  to  say  that  Cricket  even  after 
this  had  a  very  hard  lesson  before  she  learned  to 
be  perfectly  trustworthy  where  her  memory  was 
concerned.  But  this  story  comes  later. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

GOING   TO    THE    CIDER   MILL. 

IT  was  a  hot,  scorching  afternoon  in  late 
August.  All  the  grown  people  had  retired  to 
darkened  rooms  in  the  coolest  depths  of  the 
great  stone  house,  in  search  of  what  comfort 
could  be  found.  Even  nurse  had  gone  to  bed 
with  a  headache. 

Mamma  and  auntie  had  tried  to  sit  on  the 
piazza,  for  a  time,  to  watch  the  little  ones,  but 
at  last  they,  too,  had  to  give  it  up. 

"  What  are  children  made  of  ? "  sighed  auntie. 
"  How  can  they  want  to  stay  out  doors,  and 
broil  in  the  sun,  instead  of  playing  in  that 
great,  cool  nursery  ?  Shall  we  make  them  come 
in?" 

But  the  children  rebelled  at  the  very  idea. 

"  Why,  it  is  n't  very  hot,"  said  Cricket,  in 
amazement.  "  Go  in  the  house  ?  in  the  day- 
time ?  when  it  does  n't  rain  ? " 

So  mamma  charged  the  older  ones  to  take 
good  care  of  the  twins,  and  impressed  upon 


GOING   TO   THE    ClDEfc   MILL.          145 

Cricket  that  she  must  not  let  Kenneth  out  of 
her  sight,  "  and  don't  go  away,"  she  finished. 

"  I  does  n't  want  anyone  to  take  care  of  me," 
objected  Kenneth.  "  I  sink  I  'm  a  big  man, 
mamma." 

But  his  mamma  kissed  him,  and  told  him 
that  even  big  men  minded  their  sisters ;  and 
then  she  and  auntie  betook  themselves  to  the 
darkened  depths  of  their  own  rooms,  and  the 
coolness  of  cambric  wrappers. 

The  hot  hours  went  by.  The  children  played 
contentedly  for  a  time,  then  they  grew  tired  of 
everything,  and  a  little  cross,  too,  for  they  were 
really  worn  out  by  the  heat. 

At  last,  the  whole  flock  of  six  sat  in  a  discon- 
solate row  along  the  broad  stone  fence  that 
surrounded  the  grounds.  Kenneth  fretted  for 
something  to  do,  and  the  twins  teased  each 
other. 

"  If  only  these  children  were  n't  here,"  said 
Eunice,  somewhat  crossly,  "  we  might  do  some- 
thing." 

"  There 's  never  any  fun  with  children  round," 
answered  Hilda,  severely. 

"I  don't  like  to  be  here  anyway,"  whined 
Zaidee.  *  "  I  wish  nurse  would  come." 


146  CRICKET.      . 

"  Hark  !  "  exclaimed  Cricket.  "  I  hear  some- 
thing," as  the  heavy  rumble  of  wheels  was 
heard.  The  children  watched  the  bend  of  the 
road  with  interest.  Anything  that  passed  was 
of  the  greatest  importance  in  the  present  want 
of  amusement. 

"  It 's  Thomas,  with  the  oxen,"  cried  Eunice. 
"  Let 's  make  him  take  us,  too  —  oh,  bother ! 
these  children." 

The  heavy  team  lumbered  in  sight,  drawn  by 
big,  black  oxen.  Old  Thomas  was  plodding 
along  by  their  side,  occasionally  cracking  the 
long  lash  of  his  goad  around  their  patient  heads. 
Will  and  Archie  stood  in  the  cart. 

Thomas  stopped  his  team  in  the  shade  and 
wiped  his  forehead  with  his  big  red  bandanna. 

"  Ruther  a  warmish  day,"  he  remarked,  as  if 
it  were  a  new  discovery. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ? "  chorused  the 
children. 

"Down  to  the  cider  mill,"  answered  Will, 
briskly.  "  Come,  get  up,  Tummas." 

"  Oh,  dear ! "  grumbled  Eunice, "  you  boys  can 
go  everywhere,  and  have  piles  of  fun,  and  we  've 
got  to  stay  here  and  take  care  of  children, " — 
with  withering  scorn. 


GOING   TO   THE    CIDER   MILL.          147 

"  Come  along,  all  of  you,  if  you  want,"  said 
Archie.  "  '  Tis  n't  far." 

"  But  Kenneth  and  the  twins,"  objected 
Cricket. 

"  Oh,  let  the  kids  come,  too,"  replied  Archie, 
jumping  down.  The  "  kids  "  hopped  around  in 
great  glee  at  the  idea. 

"  Mamma  told  us  not  to  go  away,"  began 
Eunice,  doubtfully;  but  Hilda,  who  was  less 
used  to  obedience,  said  quickly, — 

"She  only  meant  we  were  not  to  go  away 
from  the  children,  and  we  're  not.  We  're  going 
to  take  them.  Put  them  in,  Arch,"  and  in  she 
scrambled,  while  Archie  swung  the  little  ones 
over  the  side  of  the  cart. 

"  Come,  Tummas,  Tummas,  get  up  the  old 
gee-haws,"  Will  said,  and  off  they  started.  The 
three  little  ones  sat  in  a  jubilant  row  on  the 
bottom  of  the  cart,  and  the  girls  balanced  them- 
selves on  the  empty  cider  barrels,  for  there  was 
no  seat.  Stolen  fruits  are  always  sweet,  and 
their  rather  uneasy  consciences  gave  an  addi- 
tional zest  to  the  fun. 

"  Gee,  haw ! "  cried  Thomas,  cracking  his 
lash  around  the  yoke  of  the  plodding  team. 
Down  the  road  they  pitched  and  lumbered, 


148  CRICKET. 

screaming  with  merriment,  across  the  bridge, 
under  which  the  little  winding  Kayuna  babbled, 
and  up  the  rather  steep  hill  on  the  other  side. 

At  last  they  reached  the  cider-mill.  What 
fun  it  was  to  run  around  the  apple-smelling 
place,  and  to  suck,  through  a  straw,  the  sick- 
ishly-sweet  juice  dropping  from  the  press. 

Kenneth  was  lost  once,  to  be  discovered 
leaning  over  one  of  the  low  vats,  splashing 
his  hands  in  the  pale,  yellow  liquid  with  great 
enjoyment.  Of  course  he  was  soaked  to  his 
shoulders. 

"  You  bad  boy,"  scolded  Eunice,  fishing  him 
out.  "Look  at  your  dress!"  for  it  was 
drenched  with  cider  and  black  with  dirt. 
His  face  was  grimy  and  his  curls  sticky  and 
odourous. 

"  My !  won't  'Liza  scold  ! "  commented  Zaidee, 
very  comfortingly. 

Kenneth  looked  aggrieved,  and  put  up  his  lip. 

"  You  bringed  me,  Tritet ;  I  'm  hundery,  and 
I  want  my  supper." 

"  Come,  young  uns,"  shouted  Thomas,  out- 
side, when  he  had  filled  his  barrels  and  loaded 
them  up.  "  Git  in  with  you  now,  or  we  won't 
git  to  go  to-night." 


GOING   TO    THE    CIDER   MILL.  149 

He  hoisted  Zaidee  and  Helen  over  the  side, 
and  gave  Kenneth  a  tremendous  swing  right 
over  into  the  corner.  The  girls  scrambled  over 
the  tail-board. 

"  Now,  where 's  them  rambunktious  boys  ? " 
said  Thomas,  looking  in  the  sheds.  "Hullo! 
there,  you  fellers  —  I'm  a-goin'." 

The  boys  had  gone  to  explore  the  gable  of 
the  mill,  and  were  now  seen  walking  along  the 
ridge-pole. 

"  You  scallawags ! "  screamed  Thomas,  "  come 
down  here.  I  'm  a-goin'  immijit !  " 

Archie  sat  down  astride  the  gable. 

«  All  right,  old  Thomas,  we  '11  be  there." 

His  pockets  were  stuffed  with  small  green 
apples,  as  convenient  missiles  for  any  chance 
mark.  He  took  one  out. 

"Bet  you,  Will,  that  I  can  hit  old  Judge 
square  between  the  horns,"  he  said,  taking  aim. 
Straight  away  sped  the  bullet-like  missile.  It 
missed  its  mark,  however,  and  struck  old  Judge 
a  stinging  blow  full  on  his  sensitive  nose. 

Old  Judge's  temper  was  none  of  the  best 
under  any  circumstances.  He  threw  up  his 
head  with  a  sudden  bellow  of  pain  and  rage, 
and  then,  jerking  forward,  to  the  surprise  of 


150  CRICKET. 

everyone,  he  started  off  at  a  heavy  lumbering 
run,  dragging  with  him  his  astonished  yoke- 
fellow. 

"Whoa,  thar,"  cried  Thomas.  "Whoa,  ye 
fool-critters  !  whoa,  thar ! " 

He  might  as  well  have  called  to  the  wind. 
The  clumsy  creatures  had  found  that  they  could 
run,  and  frightened  by  the  noise  of  the  heavy 
cart,  lumbering  at  their  heels,  by  the  shrieking 
children,  and  by  the  shouts  of  the  men,  bewil- 
dered by  their  own  revolt,  and  the  unusual 
feeling  of  liberty,  they  covered  the  ground  at 
a  swinging  pace. 

The  cart  rolled  and  pitched  and  the  barrels 
lurched  unsteadily.  Then  a  spigot,  insecurely 
fastened,  and  loosened  by  the  jolting,  came  out 
of  the  bung-hole,  followed  by  a  spurting  deluge 
of  cider. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE    RUNAWAY. 

POOR  little  Kenneth,  well-wedged  into  the 
corner,  was  really  in  danger  of  being  seriously 
hurt  by  a  reeling  barrel,  and  gave  vent  to 
steady  howls  of  terror.  Zaidee  and  Helen 
clung  to  each  other,  and  screamed  in  concert, 
as  they  pitched  this  way  and  that.  The  cart 
bumped  and  rattled  along  over  the  rough  lane 
that  led  down  to  the  mill. 

Eunice  and  Hilda  and  Cricket  were  still 
sitting,  with  their  feet  swinging  over  the  tail- 
board, holding  on  for  dear  life. 

"  Whoa!  gee !  haw ! "  shouted  Eunice,  steadily ; 
but  none  of  them  realized  that  they  were 
actually  in  any  danger. 

Suddenly  the  cart  gave  a  tremendous  lurch 
over  a  big  stone,  and  then  up  a  high  "  thank- 
you-ma'am."  The  tail-board  gave  way,  and  the 
astonished  girls  were  jerked  violently  forward, 
and  then  suddenly  found  themselves  sitting  in 
the  dusty  road.  And  on  went  the  oxen. 


152  CRICKET. 

The  little  ones,  still  more  frightened  when 
they  found  themselves  alone  in  the  cart,  re- 
doubled their  howls.  They  were  badly  bruised 
with  the  jolting,  drenched  with  cider,  and  scared 
out  of  their  little  wits. 

"  Let 's  jump  out,  too,"  screamed  Zaidee,  wild 
with  terror. 

"  I  'm  'fraid  to,"  sobbed  Helen. 

"  I  'm  'fraid  to  stay  here  —  we  —  could  — 
roll  —  out  —  just  —  as  —  easy,"  the  words  com- 
ing in  jerks,  as  the  runaway  team  turned  a 
dangerously  sharp  corner,  nearly  upsetting  the 
reeling  cart. 

"  I  'm  going  to  say  my  prayers !  "  said  Zaidee, 
with  sudden  inspiration.  "  Then  le  's  jump." 

So  Zaidee  steadied  herself  on  her  poor  little 
battered  knees,  by  the  side  of  the  cart,  but  she 
could  think  of  nothing  but  her  little  evening 
prayer.  At  the  top  of  her  lungs,  so  "  God 
could  hear,"  she  prayed: 

"  Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep, 
I  pray  thee,  Lord,  my  soul  to  keep. 
If  I  should  die  before  I  wake, 
I  pray  thee,  Lord,  my  soul  to  take. 
And  this  I  ask  for  Jesus'  sake,  Amen  1 " 

"  Come  on,  Helen ! " 


THE    RUNAWAY.  153 

And  before  they  could  have  said  "  Jack  Robin- 
son," out  they  rolled,  a  wretched  little  mixed-up 
bundle  of  bewildered  arms  and  legs  and  bumped 
heads,  in  the  dust.  And  on  went  the  oxen. 

Back  in  the  distance  came  Thomas's  voice. 

"Whoa,  thar!  ye  fool-critters!"  his  nearest 
approach  to  a  "  swear-word." 

Thomas,  himself,  came  lumbering  along  as 
heavily,  but  much  less  swiftly,  than  the  run- 
away pair. 

Cricket  and  Eunice  and  Hilda  were  making 
the  dust  fly  with  their  brisk  little  heels,  as 
they,  too,  shouted  in  steady  chorus,  "  Whoa, 
Judge !  Whoa,  Cap'n  !  gee !  haw  !  " 

Will  and  Archie  came  on  at  a  steady  run, 
adding  their  yells  to  the  uproar,  and  making 
the  terrified  oxen  sure  that  they  were  pursued 
by  demons. 

Kenneth's  steady  shrieks  had  not  lessened  in 
volume,  but  he  was  getting  hoarse,  and  his 
sobbing  breaths  came  shorter. 

The  cart  was  firm  and  strong,  with  closely 
fitted  boards,  so  the  poor  child  was  now  sitting 
in  quite  a  tossing  sea  of  cider.  The  fast-empty- 
ing barrel  reeled  more  and  more,  and  the 
frightened  baby  beat  it  with  both  hands. 


154  CRICKET. 

Now  the  oxen  were  well  on  the  home  stretch. 
They  had  reached  the  short  steep  hill  by  the 
farmer's  house.  The  farmer's  wife,  hearing  the 
shrieks,  had  run  out  on  the  little  bridge,  and 
now  saw  the  cart  come  in  sight  at  the  top  of 
the  hill. 

She  caught  off  her  blue  checked  apron,  and 
ran  forward  flourishing  it,  and  screaming  to  her 
husband,  — 

"  'Gustus  John  !  'Gustus  John  !  Jedge  and 
Cap'n  are  runnin'  away !  " 

'Gustus  John  appeared  at  the  bars. 

"Wai,  ye  don't  say  !  Here !  run  'em  into  the 
brook,  'Mandy,  'n  1  '11  stop  'em  thar." 

'Mandy  —  otherwise  Mrs.  Hecker  —  waved 
her  blue  banner  and  cried  "  Whoa !  "  "  Whoa !  " 
in  shrill  soprano,  heading  the  oxen  off,  as  they 
came  plunging  down  the  hill.  At  the  sight  of 
'Mandy  and  her  apron,  they  sheered  off  into 
the  side-track  through  the  brook ;  but  there 
stood  'Gustus  John,  with  a  big  stick  and  out- 
stretched arms,  barring  their  way,  and  shouting 
tremendous  "  Whoas !  "  in  familiar  tones. 

Whether  the  oxen  were  tired  with  their 
unusual  exercise,  or  whether  they  simply  con- 
cluded it  was  time  to  stop,  I  do  not  know, 


THE    RUNAWAY.  155 

but  Judge  and  Captain  brought  up  as  suddenly 
as  they  had  started,  and,  with  quivering  sides 
and  tossing  heads,  they  stood  stock-still  in  the 
brook. 

In  a  moment  poor  little  dirty  Kenneth  was  in 
'Mandy's  motherly  arms,  and  shortly  after  the 
whole  excited  group  were  gathered  on  the 
bridge. 

"  Nice-lookin'  passel  of  young  uns  you  air," 
commented  'Mandy.  "I  do  vum!  ef  you 
children  don't  beat  the  Dutch.  Like  as  not 
them  oxen  would  have  run  into  the  brook 
anyway  and  upsot  the  cart,  ef  I  hadn't  hev 
ben  here,  and  this  little  chap  would  hev  ben 
drownded,  sure." 

"Them  children's  regular  Jonahses,"  grum- 
bled Thomas,  in  short  gasps  for  breath. 
"  Never  takes  'em  nowhere  thet  suthin  does  n't 
happen  onto  some  on  'em.  I  never  see  oxen 
run  away  but  once  before,  and  there  ain't  no 
stoppin'  'em." 

"Wonder  is  that  they  hain't  all  killed,"  said 
'Gustus  John.  "It's  a  real  meracle  that  this 
ere  little  chap  did  n't  git  his  head  broke  with 
thet  'ere  bar'l,  a-rollin'  round  like  a  pea  in  a 
pod." 


156  CRICKET. 

"  Yer  ma  'n'  yer  pa  'n'  'Liza  hes  all  ben  down 
here,  a-lookin'  fur  yer  everywhere,"  said  Mrs. 
Hecker.  "It's  past  seven,  an'  they  thought  you 
was  lost,  sure.  Here  they  be,  now ; "  and  down 
the  road  came  an  excited  group  of  house-people. 

"Oh,  where  have  you  been,  you  naughty, 
naughty  children ! "  cried  mamma,  hurrying  on 
ahead.  "  We  have  been  so  frightened  about 
you." 

Papa  took  Kenneth  from  Mandy's  arms  and 
held  him  up. 

"  Well,  of  all  tough  specimens !  Mamma,  this 
can't  be  your  young  man." 

Poor  Kenneth!  his  broad-brimmed  hat  hung 
down  his  back,  held  around  his  chin  by  a  soak- 
ing wet  elastic  cord,  which  left  inky  stains  on  his 
throat.  His  sticky  curls  stood  up  stiffly  in 
plastered  masses,  all  over  his  head.  His  face 
was  begrimed  with  dirt  and  cider  and  tears. 
His  kilts  hung  in  festoons  from  his  belt.  His 
stockings  were  down,  dropping  over  his  shoes. 
His  whole  attire  was  soaking  wet,  and  smelling 
like  a  lager-beer  saloon,  his  father  said. 

"  This  is  not  your  young  man,"  repeated  papa, 
holding  him  at  arm's  length,  in  spite  of  his 
struggles. 


THE    RUNAWAY.  157 

"  I  want  rny  mamma ! "  wailed  Kenneth.  "  I 
sought  I  was  a  big  man,  an'  I  'se  nossing  but  a 
little  boy!" 

And  mamma  hugged  her  bruised  and  dirty 
baby  close  to  her  dainty  cambric  dress,  with  a 
heart  so  filled  with  thankfulness  as  she  learned 
of  the  real  danger  that  the  little  fellow  had  been 
in,  that  she  could  not  give  the  girls,  then,  the 
lecture  that  they  certainly  deserved  for  their 
disobedience,  and  which  their  father  saw  that 
they  had,  later. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

GOING   BLACKBERRYING. 

UNUSUAL  peace  and  quiet  reigned  at  Kayuna 
for  a  time  after  the  excitement  of  the  runaway. 
It  was  an  unusually  warm  summer,  and  so  even 
Cricket,  the  tireless,  was  somewhat  subdued. 
Hilda  Mason  went  away  for  a  visit,  and  her  little 
friend  missed  her  very  much,  for,  as  she  said 
privately  to  Eunice,  "  Hilda  was  so  much  will- 
inger  to  do  things  than  she  used  to  be." 

Eunice  and  Cricket  had  long  planned  a  black- 
berrying  party  when  the  blackberries  should  be 
in  their  prime,  and  mamma  said  that  now  would 
be  just  the  time  to  go.  The  girls  had  been  ex- 
pecting their  little  cousin,  Edna  Somers,  the 
sister  of  Will  and  Archie,  to  visit  them  for  a 
week,  and  as  she  arrived  on  Monday,  they  decided 
that  the  next  Wednesday  should  be  the  impor- 
tant day. 

The  rest  of  the  party  was  to  consist  of  Edith 
Craig,  from  the  Rectory,  Ray  Einmons,  Phil 
Howard,  and  his  sister  Rose,  and  Daisy  and  Harry 


GOING   BLACKBERRYING.  159 

Pelham.  They  planned  to  get  up  very  early  on 
Wednesday,  —  oh,  by  five  o'clock,  say, —  get  an 
early  breakfast  of  bread  and  milk  from  the 
cook,  have  luncheon  enough  packed  for  both 
dinner  and  supper,  and  then  start  for  the 
blackberry  pasture,  which  was  nearly  three  miles 
away. 

No  one  of  the  children  but  the  Howards  and 
Ray  Emmons  had  ever  been  there,  but  they  were 
sure  that  they  could  easily  find  the  way  again. 
They  would  go  through  the  woods  to  the  West 
Road,  and  then  they  were  almost  there.  They 
would  arrive  on  the  spot  long  before  the  sun 
grew  hot,  and  would  pick  blackberries  for 
awhile.  Then,  when  they  chose,  they  would 
find  a  nice  place  and  take  their  luncheon.  Then 
they  would  rest  awhile,  and  after  that,  pick 
more  berries  till  their  pails  were  full,  and  then, 
finally,  start  for  home,  and  get  there  just  in  time 
for  another  supper,  after  a  lovely,  long  day. 

The  children  were  all  delighted  with  the  idea. 
They  often  had  small  picnics,  but  never  any  so 
extensive  and  grown-up  as  this. 

And  then  the  blackberries!  Think  of  the 
quarts  and  bushels  they  would  bring  home ! 
What  visions  of  unlimited  jam,  and  spiced 


160  CRICKET. 

blackberries  without  stint,  floated  before  their 
eyes. 

Papa  teased  the  girls  a  little. 

"  Perhaps  I  had  better  send  Thomas  and  the 
oxen  to  meet  you  at  the  bars  ?  If  they  should 
happen  to  come  home  rather  fast,  you  could 
have  blackberry  jam  without  any  trouble,"  he 
said,  laughing.  Then  he  suggested  that  they 
should  make  arrangements  with  some  farmer  to 
take  their  extra  berries  into  Boston  to  sell. 

"  We  don't  want  to  be  swamped  under  black- 
berries, you  know,"  he  added.  Then,  of  course, 
the  boys  had  their  remarks  to  make. 

"  You  '11  have  to  take  Mopsie  and  Charcoal, 
and  drive  around  from  house  to  house  to  sell 
your  berries,"  said  Will. 

"  Bet  you  they  won't  bring  home  half  a  pint 
between  them  all,"  said  Archie. 

"  Better  keep  off  Mr.  Trante's  land,  anyway. 
All  the  best  berries  grow  in  his  pasture,  and 
would  n't  he  like  to  catch  you  picking  them  ! " 
said  Donald.  "  He 's  been  lying  in  wait  for  you 
children,  ever  since  you  flooded  his  meadows. 
Most  probably  he  'd  put  you  all  in  the  lock-up,  if 
he  caught  you." 

This   was   a   sore  subject   with   Eunice   and 


GOING   BLACKBERRYING.  161 

Cricket,  and  they  turned  the  conversation  by 
asking  mamma  what  cook  should  put  up  for 
their  luncheon. 

"  We  want  a  lot,"  said  Cricket,  decidedly. 
"  'Cause  we  '11  have  to  have  our  dinner,  you 
know,  and  then  we  must  have  enough  left  for  a 
nice  lunch  before  we  start  for  home.  And  have 
a  lot  of  supper  ready,  mamma,  dear,  'cause  we  '11 
be  'most  starved." 

"  That 's  on  the  principle  that  the  more  you 
eat,  the  hungrier  you  get,"  said  Archie. 

"  For  goodness'  sake,  make  them  stop  with 
their  supper,  mother,"  said  Donald,  "  else  they 
will  get  so  hungry  they  can't  stand  it." 

The  children  were  deaf  to  all  jokes,  and 
preparations  for  the  important  day  went  mer- 
rily on.  An  excited  group  of  small  people 
met  after  supper,  on  the  Wards'  piazza,  on  the 
night  before,  to  "  make  'rangements."  One 
would  have  thought  that  they  were  planning  at 
least  a  trip  to  Europe. 

"  We  girls  think  we  won't  go  to  sleep  at  all, 
to-night,"  said  Eunice,  with  much  importance. 
"  We  always  sit  up  till  nine  o'clock,  anyway, 
and  five  o'clock  will  come  so  soon  that  it  won't 
be  worth  while  to  get  undressed." 


162  CRICKET. 

"  Whatever  you  do,"  called  Donald  from  his 
hammock,  "  please  see  that  Cricket  is  chained  in 
bed  till  the  proper  time.  She  prefers  to  get  up  at 
midnight  and  go  downstairs  on  her  head,  you 
know,  when  early  rising  is  in  question,  and 
that  wakes  the  rest  of  us  up." 

"Phil's  going  to  wake  me  up,"  announced 
Ray.  "  I  'm  going  to  tie  a  string  to  my  big  toe, 
and  hang  the  end  of  the  string  out  of  the  win- 
dow, and  Phil  will  come  along  and  yank  it." 

"  Be  sure  you  don't  go  without  us,"  pleaded 
Daisy.  "I'll  have  to  wake  myself  up,  and 
Harry,  too,  for  no  one  in  our  house  ever  gets  up 
so  early." 

"  I  '11  run  over  and  wake  you  up,  too,"  said 
Phil,  obligingly.  "  I  '11  throw  stones  up  at  your 
window." 

They  were  all  to  meet  at  the  bars  at  the 
entrance  of  the  woods,  for  the  cart-path 
through  them  was  much  shorter  than  the 
distance  around  by  the  road. 

"  And  we  're  not  going  to  have  any  children" 
finished  Eunice,  in  the  tone  of  unutterable 
scorn  that  always  crushed  the  twins,  who  were 
eagerly  listening  to  the  "  'rangements." 

When   nine    o'clock   came,   and  Eunice  and 


GOING   BLACKBERRYING.  163 

Cricket  and  Edna  had  gone  upstairs,  they 
decided,  in  spite  of  previous  resolutions,  that  it 
might  be  better  just  to  lie  down  for  awhile, 
"  though  it  was  not  at  all  worth  while  to  go  to 
sleep."  So  they  stretched  themselves  on  the 
beds,  all  dressed,  to  talk  over  the  coming  day. 

"  Edna,"  said  Cricket,  presently,  after  a  sus- 
piciously long  silence,  "my  clothes  are  all 
wriggled  up,  somehow,  and  I  b'lieve  I'll  take 
my  dress  off.  It  won't  take  long  to  put  it  on  in 
the  morning,  and  I  '11  be  more  comfortable." 

"  I  was  just  thinking,"  agreed  Edna,  sleepily, 
"  that  we  'd  better  take  off  our  dresses." 

"  I  think,"  said  Eunice,  when  their  dresses 
were  off,  "  I  '11  take  off  my  skirts,  too.  They 
get  so  twisty." 

With  their  skirts  removed  they  lay  down 
again,  and  began  to  talk  with  renewed  zest. 
Presently  conversation  flagged  again. 

"  Cricket,"  said  Edna,  rousing  suddenly,  "  I 
can't  stand  it,  and  I  'm  going  to  bed,  just  the 
same  as  usual.  I  don't  think  it 's  a  bit  of  fun 
to  sit  up  all  night.  Listen !  What  is  that 
striking  ?  Only  ten  o'clock !  " 

The  others,  by  this  time,  were  more  than 
willing  to  go  to  bed  in  ordinary  fashion,  and  in 


164  CRICKET. 

ten  minutes  more,  all  three  little  girls  were  in 
the  Land  of  Nod. 

It  proved  to  be  a  wonderfully  prompt  little 
party,  for  it  was  only  half-past  five  o'clock  when 
they  all  assembled,  with  well-filled  luncheon- 
baskets,  and  empty  pails  to  bring  home  their 
blackberries  in. 

They  were  all  rather  heavy-eyed  and  quiet  at 
first,  to  be  sure,  but  they  soon  grew  wide-awake. 
It  seemed  a  very  new  world  to  the  little  girls, 
who  had  scarcely  ever  been  up  at  this  hour 
before,  though  the  boys,  from  many  a  fishing 
and  nutting  excursion,  were  more  used  to  it. 

"  Does  n't  it  look  as  if  everything  had  been 
washed  ? "  said  Cricket,  skipping  along  de- 
lightedly. "How  the  leaves  rustle,  and  how 
the  birds  sing !  I  'm  going  to  get  up  every  day, 
after  this,  at  five  o'clock." 

"  Bet  you,  you  won't,"  said  Ray,  sceptically. 

"  You  'd  do  it  for  about  two  days,  and  then 
you'd  give  it  up.  Girls  never  stick  to  any- 
thing." 

"  Oh,  Ray  Emmons !  "  came  in  an  indignant 
chorus.  "  Girls  stick  as  well  as  boys." 

"  Seems  to  me  that  Edith  Craig  stuck  to  the 
head  of  her  jography  class  all  last  winter,  and 


CRICKET    TRYING    TO    CATCH    THE    MINNOWS. 


GOING   BLACKBERRYING.  167 

you  boys  could  n't  help  it,"  said  Daisy  Pelham, 
triumphantly. 

"  Oh,  jography  !  I  was  n't  talking  about  jog- 
raphy.  Bet  you  I  can  hit  that  squirrel,  plump," 
thinking  it  better  to  change  the  subject. 

When  they  came  to  the  little  brook,  a  deep 
pool  below  a  rough  bridge  looked  so  cool  and 
clean  that  they  loitered  to  throw  stones  in  it, 
and  scare  the  minnows  gliding  around  in  its 
transparent  depths.  Further  down,  among  the 
bulrushes,  the  frogs  croaked  and  jumped. 

"  Oh,  I  say,"  cried  Harry  Pelham, "  let's  catch 
some  frogs,  and  have  frogs'  legs  for  lunch !  " 

"  Oh,  don't  touch  the  slimy  things,"  pleaded 
Daisy.  "  They  squirm  and  squeak  so.  Do  let's 
go  on." 

"  Are  minnows  good  to  eat  ?  "  asked  Cricket, 
who  was  kneeling  on  the  bank,  and  looking 
down  into  the  water.  "  I  b  'lieve  I  could  catch 
them  with  my  hand." 

She  rolled  up  her  cambric  sleeves,  and  dipped 
her  arm  in  the  water.  The  minnows  slipped 
tantalizingly  near.  A  particularly  big  fellow 
flashed  by. 

"  Oh,  what  a  bouncer !  "  Cricket  cried.  She 
plunged  forward,  and  of  course  she  lost  her  bal- 


168  CRICKET. 

ance  and  went  head  and  shoulders  into  the 
water,  in  the  endeavour  to  save  herself.  Phil, 
who  stood  nearest,  pulled  her  up,  dripping. 

"  Cricket  Ward  !  "  exclaimed  Eunice,  com- 
pletely disgusted.  "  I  never  saw  anything  like 
you.  I  believe  you'd  fall  into  the  water  if 
there  was  n't  a  saucerful." 

«  I  b'lieve  I  would,"  acknowledged  Cricket, 
meekly,  rubbing  her  short,  dripping  curls  with 
the  boys'  handkerchiefs. 

"  You  're  pretty  wet,"  said  Edith.  "  I  'm 
afraid  you  've  got  to  go  home." 

"  Oh,  no,  I  won't,"  said  Cricket,  much  sur- 
prised at  this  suggestion.  "  I  '11  just  go  round 
those  bushes  and  wring  my  waist  out,  and  I  '11 
get  dry  pretty  soon,  I  reckon.  My  skirt  is  n't 
very  wet." 

"  You  can  put  on  my  sacque,  Cricket,"  sug- 
gested Daisy.  "  Mamma  made  me  wear  it, 
and  it's  awfully  hot.  Then  you  can  hang 
your  waist  over  your  arm  to  dry,  so  we  can 
go  on." 

So  Cricket  and  Daisy  retired  from  view  for  a 
while.  When  they  returned  the  rest  of  the 
party  set  up  a  shout.  Daisy  was  much  shorter 
than  Cricket,  so  that  the  sleeves  scarcely  came 


GOING    BLACKBERRYING.  169 

below  her  elbow,  and  the  bottom  of  the  sacque 
hung  only  an  inch  or  so  below  her  waist. 

"I  don't  care,"  said  Cricket,  comfortably. 
"  It  covers  me  up,  and  my  waist  will  be  dry 
soon.  Do  let's  go  on.  We  won't  get  to  the 
blackberry  pasture  till  noon.  It  must  be  pretty 
nearly  eleven  o'clock  now." 

"  Thanks  to  you,  young  woman,"  answered 
Harry  Pelham,  who  was  older  than  the  rest. 
"  If  you  will  waste  our  time  falling  into 
brooks  —  " 

"  Well,"  said  Cricket,  "  I  always  did  fall  into 
the  water,  and  I  'xpect  I  always  will.  I  remem- 
ber sitting  down  in  a  pail  of  hot  water  once, 
when  I  was  just  a  teenty  little  bit  of  a  thing. 
My  !  how  it  hurt !  I  just  cried  and  cried.  At 
least  the  water  was  n't  so  very  hot,  for  the  cook 
was  only  scrubbing  the  floor.  I  had  run  away 
down  to  the  kitchen.  But  the  pail  was  deep, 
and  I  was  so  little,  that  I  doubled  together  just 
like  a  jack-knife,  and  the  cook  laughed  so  that 
she  could  hardly  pull  me  out." 

The  children  laughed,  too.  Harum-scarum 
Cricket  always  had  accidents  that  never  would 
happen  to  any  one  else. 

"  And  you  were  nearly  drowned  last  summer," 


170  CRICKET. 

said  Edna.  "  Don't  you  remember  up  at  Lake 
Clear  ?  " 

"  I  never  heard  about  that.  What  was  it  ?  " 
asked  Edith. 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  returned  Cricket,  who  never 
looked  upon  her  adventures  as  interesting. 
"  Edna  and  I  went  out  paddling  in  a  boat.  We 
could  n't  find  but  one  oar.  Edna  could  paddle, 
but  I  did  n't  know  how,  but  it  looked  so  easy 
that  I  thought  I  could  do  it.  So  I  stood  up  and 
took  hold  of  the  oar,  and  I  took  one  paddle  all 
right  and  then  I  put  the  oar  over  the  other  side, 
and  somehow,  I  went  right  over  myself.  There 
wasn't  anybody  is  sight,  but  we  hollered,  at 
least  Edna  did,  and  1  did  when  I  came  up ; 
then  I  went  down  again  and  when  I  came  up  I 
struck  the  boat.  It  was  pretty  hard  getting  in, 
and  I  had  to  climb  up  over  the  end.  We  had 
lost  the  oar,  so  Edna  pulled  up  the  board  in  the 
bottom  of  the  boat  and  she  paddled  us  ashore. 
And  that 's  all,  and  I  was  n't  drowned,"  concluded 
Cricket,  in  the  most  matter-of-fact  way. 

"Whew!"  whistled  Harry.  "That  was  a 
close  call." 

"  It  was  fortunate  I  hit  the  boat  when  I  came 
up,"  assented  Cricket,  placidly, "  for  Edna  did  n't 


GOING   BLACKBEKRYING.  171 

have  any  oar,  and  it  was  hard  pulling  up  the 
board  to  paddle  with.  I  'xpect  I  might  have 
been  drowned,  if  I  'd  floated  off,  and  had  had  to 
wait  for  her." 

They  had  been  trudging  on  through  the  woods 
while  they  were  talking,  and  now  they  came  to 
where  the  cart-path  forked. 

"  Which  way  do  we  go  ?  "  asked  Eunice. 

"  This  way,"  said  Rose. 

"  No,  this  way,"  contradicted  Phil,  positively. 
"  I  remember  that  blasted  oak." 

"  Seems  to  me,"  began  Rose,  doubtfully,  "  that 
the  blasted  oak  that  I  remember  was  not  at  the 
fork,  but  close  to  the  edge  of  the  woods.  I 
don't  think  that  this  is  the  same  tree.  I  do 
remember  that  old  beech,  though,"  she  added, 
pointing  down  the  right-hand  path,  "  and  I  think 
that  that  is  the  way." 

"  No,  I  'm  sure  about  that  blasted  oak  down 
this  path,"  said  Phil, "  and  I  think  this  is  the  one 
to  take." 

"  Bet  you  it  is ! "  put  in  Ray,  supporting  Phil, 
on  principle ;  "  I  remember  it,  too.  Come  on, 
boys."  And  the  children  trooped  down  the  left- 
hand  path,  while  Rose,  though  she  still  looked 
doubtful,  followed  the  rest. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

COMING   HOME. 

"  I  DON'T  know  how  the  rest  of  you  feel,  but 
I'm  getting  about  starved,"  announced  Phil, 
after  they  had  gone  some  little  distance  further. 
"  I  vote  we  have  our  grub  just  as  soon  as  we  get 
to  the  berry-pasture,  before  we  pick  any  berries." 

This  proposal  was  heartily  approved  of  by  the 
entire  party. 

"  It  must  be  nearly  noon,  I  think,"  said  Eu- 
nice. "  We  wasted  a  lot  of  time  by  the  brook, 
you  know,  and  we've  been  walking  for  hours 
since." 

"  Hark  !  there 's  the  twelve  o'clock  whistle 
now,"  exclaimed  Phil.  The  children  listened 
eagerly.  It  certainly  was  the  distant  mill-whis- 
tle, but  it  was  not  the  noon  signal,  but,  instead, 
the  one  for  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

"  No  wonder  we  are  hungry,  then,"  said  Harry. 
"  We  all  had  our  breakfasts  at  five,  and  that's 
six  hours  ago." 

"  And  we  're  nowhere  near  the  berry-pasture 


COMING    HOME.  173 

yet,"  said  Rose,  hesitating  and  looking  around. 
"We  ought  to  have  been  out  of  the  woods 
long  ago.  Phil  Howard,  I  know  we  took  the 
wrong  turn  there  by  that  old  oak." 

The  other  children  looked  at  one  another  in 
despair. 

"  Bet  you  we  did !  "  cried  Ray.  "  I  kinder 
thought  this  did  n't  look  right.  Now  we  've  got 
to  go  back." 

"  Don't  let's,"  said  Harry.  "  If  we  take  this 
path  off  this  way,  it  will  bring  us  back  on  to  the 
road,  I  know." 

"  And  I  say,  don't  let's  go  another  step  till 
we  've  had  our  grub." 

Phil  gave  his  advice  decidedly,  "  We  can't  get 
to  the  pasture,  anyway,  till  afternoon,  and  we 
might  as  well  have  our  lunch  first." 

"  There 's  the  brook  again,"  exclaimed  Cricket, 
catching  sight  of  her  old  friend,  the  winding 
Kayuna,  which  meandered  in  every  known  direc- 
tion. 

"We  can  get  some  water  there.  I  guess 
I  '11  put  on  my  waist  now.  It 's  'bout  dry,"  she 
added,  as  the  mention  of  the  brook  brought  her 
mishap  to  her  mind. 

A    pretty   little  grassy    opening    just    there 


174  CRICKET. 

afforded  them  a  fine  place  to  sit  down  for  their 
lunch.  Cricket  took  her  pail  and  went  up  the 
brook  after  water,  and  presently  returned,  ar- 
rayed again  in  her  pink  cambric  waist,  which 
was  very  wrinkled  and  streaky  as  to  the  sleeves, 
and  very  damp  and  sticky  as  to  the  collar. 

They  spread  their  luncheon,  a  very  generous 
one,  since  it  had  been  provided,  as  they  had 
begged,  with  a  view  to  its  serving  two  meals. 
But  the  boys  seemed  to  be  entirely  hollow. 

"  See  here,  boys,"  exclaimed  Edith,  in  dismay. 
"  You  must  stop.  There  won't  be  bread  and 
butter  enough  for  supper,  if  you  keep  on,  and  we 
must  make  it  last.  Now,  Phil,  you've  had  five 
pieces  of  cake  already.  You  sha  n't  have  another 
bit.  We'll  pack  the  rest  up  now."  Edith 
being  the  eldest  of  the  party,  and  unusually 
quiet  and  dignified  for  her  age,  her  words  always 
carried  weight.  The  boys  reluctantly  suspended 
operations,  and  very  unwillingly  watched  the 
remainder  of  the  lunch  repacked  in  the  baskets. 

They  finally  decided  not  to  go  back  the  way 
they  had  come,  but  to  take  a  cart-path  which 
crossed  the  one  they  were  on,  and  which  Harry 
was  quite  sure  would  bring  them  out  on  the 
main  road  that  they  wished  to  strike. 


COMING   HOME.  175 

Their  lunch  had  refreshed  them,  and  they 
went  on,  gayly  chattering  and  laughing.  A 
squirrel-hunt  detained  them  awhile,  and  then  a 
great  patch  of  squaw-berries,  as  the  children 
called  the  pretty  partridge-vine,  attracted  them. 
Then  they  stumbled  on  some  winter-green, 
and  stopped  to  gather  great  bunches. 

"  Goodness  gracious  ! "  exclaimed  Cricket,  at 
last.  "  Boys,  I  believe  it 's  most  supper-time, 
and  I  'd  like  to  know  where  that  West  Road 's 
gone  to." 

"It's  gone  to  Melville.  That's  where  it 
always  goes,"  said  Harry,  smartly. 

"  Since  your  wits  are  so  sharp,"  laughed 
Edith, "  perhaps  they  '11  help  you  to  decide  which 
of  these  two  paths  we  ought  to  take  now." 

Harry  considered. 

"  We  want  to  go  west,"  he  said,  "  and  there 's 
the  sun  over  there,  so  we  '11  take  that  path. 
Jove,  boys !  Look  at  that  sun  !  it  must  be  four 
o'clock.  No  berries  yet." 

The  little  band  began  to  look  rather  dis- 
couraged. 

"  We  're  like  Columbus  discovering  America," 
observed  Cricket,  cheerfully.  "  The  farther  we 
go,  the  more  it  is  n't  there.  Let 's  keep  straight 


176  CRICKET. 

on.  Papa  says  that  the  woods  are  n't  but  two 
miles  across,  so  we  will  certainly  get  out  that 
way." 

"  If  once  we  strike  that  West  Road,"  said 
Harry,  «  I  know  where  to  go  then." 

"  Here  are  some  blackberries ! "  cried  Ray,  who 
was  in  advance. 

They  had  come  to  another  open  spot,  and 
sure  enough,  there  were  some  straggling  black- 
berry vines. 

"  Let 's  pick  these,  anyway,"  said  Edna,  "  in 
case  we  don't  find  any  more." 

The  children  hooted  at  this  idea,  but  never- 
theless, they  fell  to  work.  The  berries  were 
hard  and  dry  and  half-ripe,  but  they  were  —  or 
ought  to  have  been  —  blackberries.  Their  fin- 
gers flew,  and  the  hard  little  berries  rolled  into 
their  tin  pails  with  a  lively  clatter. 

"  Ow  !  ow !  ow  !  "  suddenly  came  in  squeals 
of  terror  from  one  of  the  girls.  "Here's  a 
snake !  a  big  black  snake,  and  he  is  eating  a 
little  bird ! " 

The  children  rushed  to  the  spot.  There, 
among  some  tall  weeds,  lay  a  long,  slender, 
whip-like  object,  black  and  shining,  with  raised 
head.  In  its  open  mouth  was  a  poor  little, 


COMING   HOME.  177 

struggling,  half-fledged  bird,  already  partially 
swallowed.  Above  it,  the  parent  birds  fluttered 
and  screamed  in  agony,  sweeping  around  in 
short,  swift  circles. 

The  children  stood,  at  first,  in  fascinated 
horror.  The  poor  little  birdie  slowly  disap- 
peared in  the  yawning  mouth,  and  the  children 
could  see  the  muscles  of  the  black  body  work,  as 
the  whole  undigested  mass  slipped  slowly  down. 
Then  the  snake  made  queer,  darting  movements 
with  its  head,  and  this  broke  the  spell  for  the 
frightened  children.  A  wild  stampede  in- 
stantly followed,  as  they  fled,  screaming  and 
shrieking.  The  few  berries,  the  rest  of  the 
lunch,  the  napkins  and  the  pail-covers  flew  in 
every  direction,  as  the  children  sped  wildly  on, 
thinking  that  the  snake  was  in  full  pursuit. 
Nor  did  they  stop  until  Cricket,  who,  on  her 
swift  feet,  led  the  band,  went,  head  over  heels, 
over  a  projecting  root,  and  found  herself  sitting 
on  the  bank  of  the  ever-present  Kayuna. 

Then  they  all  brought  up,  panting  and  breath- 
less, and  rather  shamefaced. 

"  Ho !  what  made  you  girls  run  so  ?  "  asked 
Phil,  recovering  himself  first. 

"  Well,  I  like  that !  what  made  you  run  so 


178  CRICKET. 

yourself,  Mr.  Phil  ?  I  guess  you  were  as  fright- 
ened as  anybody,"  said  Daisy,  indignantly. 

"  '  Fraid  ?  I  was  n't  a  bit  afraid.  I  just  ran 
after  you  girls  to  tell  you  there  wasn't  any 
danger,  but  you  ran  so  fast,  and  I  was  tired  — 

"  Oh,  tired !  "  chorused  the  girls,  scornfully. 
"  Seems  to  us  you  managed  to  keep  pretty  well 
ahead." 

"Jove,  boys,  where  do  you  think  we  are?" 
exclaimed  Phil,  abruptly  changing  the  subject. 

"  We  're  just  exactly  where  Cricket  fell  in  the 
brook  this  morning." 

And  so  they  were.  Thinking  it  was  after- 
noon they  had  turned  in  the  direction  of  the 
sun,  meaning  to  go  west.  Of  course  they  had 
really  gone  east,  since  it  was  still  morning,  and 
here  they  were,  not  ten  minutes'  walk  from  home. 

They  stood  looking  at  one  another  in  perfect 
silence. 

"  Our  whole  day  wasted,"  said  Eunice,  at 
length,  very  soberly. 

"It  must  be  most  supper-time,  and  we 
haven't  any  lunch  left,"  commented  Harry, 
surveying  the  melancholy  collection  of  empty 
pails  and  baskets. 

"  I  'm  awful  hungry,"  sighed  Phil. 


COMING   HOME.  179 

No  one  exactly  liked  to  propose  going  home, 
yet  what  else  was  there  to  do  ?  It  was  too  late, 
they  thought,  to  start  out  again  in  search  of 
pastures  new,  and  yet,  how  could  they  go  home 
and  encounter  the  teasing  that  would  surely 
follow  the  tale  of  the  day's  experience. 

"  If  only  we  had  some  berries ! "  groaned 
Rose. 

"  That  horrid  old  snake,"  said  Daisy,  looking 
fearfully  around.  "  We  would  have  had  some, 
anyway,  excepting  for  his  chasing  us  away." 

Cricket  had  been  sitting  still,  where  she  had 
tumbled.  Now  she  got  up  slowly  and  picked  up 
her  pail  and  basket. 

"  I  'm  going  home,"  she  said,  decidedly.  "  I 
think  we  've  had  a  very  nice  day,  if  we  did  n't 
get  any  blackberries.  Papa  always  buys  them, 
anyway,  of  that  poor  little  girl  that  brings  them 
down  from  the  hills,  and  she  needs  the  money." 

"  If  Cricket  goes,"  said  Edna,  jumping  up  with 
great  alacrity,  "  of  course  we  must  all  go  with 
her.  It  must  be  most  supper-time,  anyway." 

The  depressed  looking  group  presently  found 
themselves  at  the  edge  of  the  woods. 

"  Well,  I  do  declare ! "  exclaimed  Cricket, 
stopping  short,  "  if  there  are  n't  Thomas  and  the 


180  CRICKET. 

oxen  at  the  bars  !  Papa  has  sent  him,  after  all. 
Hollo,  Thomas,  did  you  come  to  meet  us  ?  " 

Thomas  stared  as  they  approached. 

"  Wai,  now,  young  uns,  I  railly  thought  you 
were  off  for  all  day.  What 's  drove  you  home 
at  this  time  o'  the  mornin'  ?  Gin  out  arly, 
seems  to  me." 

"  Why,  no,"  answered  Cricket,  surprised. 
"  It 's  the  time  we  meant  to  come.  Did  papa 
send  you  for  us  ?  " 

"  Wai,  no,  not  'xactly.  What  should  yer  pa 
send  for  you  now,  fur  ?  He  kinder  thought  you 
wuz  a-goin'  to  stay  all  day." 

"  I  should  think  we  had  stayed  all  day,"  said 
Harry.  "  Seems  a  week  since  this  morning." 

"Wai,  I  ruther  'low  it's  mornin'  yet,"  re- 
turned Thomas,  equally  surprised. 

"  Morning  now  ? "  came  a  chorus  of  voices. 
"  Why,  we  've  had  our  dinner,  and  we  would 
have  had  our  supper,  only  we  lost  it." 

Thomas  went  off  in  a  loud  guffaw. 

"  Ef  you  blessed  young  uns  hain't  ben  and 
come  home  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  mornin' ! " 

"  Ten ! "  faltered  a  voice  or  two.  The  rest 
were  speechless. 

"  To  be  sure.     Thar  comes  Mr.  Archie  now. 


COMING    HOME.  181 

He 's  ben  a  drivin'  the  doctor  over  to  the  nine- 
thirty  train." 

Archie  reined  up  at  the  sight  of  the  group 
around  the  bars. 

"  Hello,  you  fellows  ! "  he  called.  "  Thought 
you  were  off  for  all  day.  Get  your  pails  filled 
so  soon  ?  What !  no  berries !  " 

The  children  glanced  shamefacedly  at  each 
other. 

"  Cricket  fell  in  the  brook,"  began  one. 

"  And  we  lost  our  way,"  said  another. 

"  And  we  ate  our  dinner,  and  lost  our  sup- 
per," said  a  third. 

"  And  we  saw  a  big,  black  snake  chewing  up 
a  little  bird  —  " 

"  And  we  were  all  afraid  and  ran,"  confessed 
Cricket. 

"Not  afraid!"  cried  Phil,  valiantly.  "The 
girls  ran,  Arch,  and  we  fellows  had  to  run  after 
them  to  tell  them  there  was  n't  any  danger.  But 
we  lost  all  our  supper,  running,"  he  added  hastily, 
to  prevent  contradiction  to  his  first  statement. 

"  And  then  —  well,"  finished  Eunice,  in  a 
burst  of  honesty,  "we  thought  it  was  supper- 
time,  Archie  ;  we  really  did,  and  Thomas  says  it 's 
only  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning ! " 

Archie  shouted  at  this. 


182  CRICKET. 

"  So  you  never  found  the  berry  pasture  at  all  ? 
Have  n't  you  got  a  single  berry  among  you  all  ? 
Well,  by  Jove,  you  are  a  fine  set !  Thought  it 
was  supper-time  at  ten  in  the  morning!  " 

The  children  never  heard  the  end  of  this 
joke. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

WHAT   ZAIDEE   AND   HELEN   FOUND. 

MAMMA  had  gone  away  for  a  two  weeks'  visit 
to  grandmamma,  and  had  taken  little  Kenneth 
with  her.  Zaidee  and  Helen  felt  very  lonely 
without  their  small  playfellow,  for  it  was  the 
first  time  they  had  ever  been  separated.  The 
first  week  seemed  very  long.  Then  when  nurse 
began  to  comfort  them  by  saying  that  next  week 
mamma  and  Kenneth  would  be  at  home  again, 
their  came  a  letter  from  mamma  saying  that 
grandmamma  was  not  very  well,  and  she  would 
stay  another  week  besides. 

The  twins  were  quite  ready  to  cry.  "  Next 
week "  seemed  like  saying  «  next  year."  But 
auntie  was  staying  with  them  still,  and  as  she 
was  mamma's  own  sister  herself,  and  she  looked 
very  much  like  her,  this  was  a  great  comfort  to 
the  children,  for  they  would  try  and  «  play  "  it 
was  mamma  who  spoke  to  them.  But  there 
was  no  one  to  take  little  Kenneth's  place. 

The  twins  had  a  favourite  playground  down 


184  CRICKET. 

by  the  brook.  It  was  just  below  the  pool  where 
they  had  tried  to  drown  the  poor  little  kittens. 

A  great  oak  tree  grew  there,  and  the  grass 
underneath  was  smooth  and  green.  The  brook 
was  very  shallow  there,  and  there  were  plenty 
of  smooth,  round  stones  which  they  could  easily 
get  out  of  the  water,  without  getting  themselves 
at  all  wet.  On  the  green  grass  they  played 
house,  marking  off  the  rooms  by  these  round 
stones.  The  acorns  from  the  oak  served  the 
purpose  of  cups  for  their  dolls,  and  bits  of 
broken  china  made  fine  dishes.  They  had,  at 
home,  a  beautiful,  real  doll's  house,  with  the 
cimningest  furniture,  and  plenty  of  "  really, 
truly"  doll's  dishes,  but  they  got  much  more 
pleasure  out  of  this  make-believe  house,  marked 
off  with  stones. 

Since  Kenneth  was  not  at  home  to  be  looked 
after,  Eliza  often  let  the  twins  go  down  to  the 
brook  to  play  all  by  themselves.  One  morning, 
after  breakfast,  they  ran  down  there  as  usual. 
To  their  great  surprise  they  found  that  some  one 
was  there  before  them. 

It  was  a  little  boy,  about  Kenneth's  age.  He 
had  on  a  linen  dress  and  a  broad-brimmed 
hat.  He  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bank,  poking  a 


WHAT   ZAIDEE    AND    HELEN    FOUND.   185 

stick  into  the  water.  Where  could  he  have 
come  from  ?  The  children  were  sure  they  had 
never  seen  him  before. 

As  the  twins  approached,  he  looked  up  at 
them  with  a  pair  of  sober,  wide  brown  eyes. 

"Oh,  Helen!  what's  that!"  cried  Zaidee,  in 
great  amazement,  stopping  short. 

"  It 's  a  little  boy ! "  exclaimed  Helen,  as  much 
excited  as  if  she  had  found  a  crocodile.  "  We  've 
finded  a  little  boy ! " 

Zaidee  ran  up  to  Brown-Eyes. 

"What  is  your  name?"  she  demanded, 
eagerly. 

Brown-Eyes  answered  nothing.  He  looked 
at  the  little  girls,  gravely,  and  the  little  girls 
looked  at  him. 

"  Have  n't  you  any  name  ? "  persisted  Zaidee. 

"  No,"  answered  Brown-Eyes,  briefly. 

"  Where  do  you  live  ?  "  asked  Helen,  running 
round  on  the  other  side  of  him. 

Brown-Eyes  looked  all  around  him,  into  the 
sky,  into  the  water,  and  into  the  woods  on  the 
other  side  of  the  brook.  Then  he  said,  "  I  'm 
here." 

"  Oh,  Helen !  "  shrieked  Zaidee,  in  great  ex- 
citement. "He  hasn't  any  name,  and  he 


186  CRICKET. 

doesn't  live  anywhere  but  here,  so  he's  ours, 
cause  we  finded  him,  just  like  the  kitty  we 
finded,  and  auntie  let  us  keep  it." 

Zaidee  was  very  much  mixed  up  in  her 
speech,  but  Helen  understood.  She  clapped  her 
hands  with  joy. 

"  Now  we  've  got  a  little  boy  to  play  with, 
'stead  of  Kenneth.  Let 's  keep  him  to  play  with 
till  Kenneth  comes  home,  and  then  there  '11  be 
two  of  him,  just  the  same  as  there 's  two  of  us." 

"  Can  it  talk,  do  you  s'pose  ? "  asked  Zaidee, 
walking  around  Brown-Eyes,  with  much  inter- 
est. For,  excepting  his  two  short  answers,  he 
had  not  spoken  at  all. 

"I  'xpect  he  can  talk,"  returned  Helen, 
"  cause  he 's  got  teeth,  has  n't  he  ?  "  In  her  mind 
the  only  reason  that  a  baby  can't  talk  is  because 
it  has  n't  any  teeth.  Brown-Eyes  immediately 
showed  a  full  set. 

"  Yes,  he  has,"  said  Helen,  triumphantly. 
"  He 's  got  some  up  teeth  and  some  down 
teeth.  Talk,  boy." 

Brown-Eyes  only  looked  at  them  as  silently 
as  before. 

"  Poke  him,"  said  Zaidee.  "  Let 's  see  if  he 
squeals." 


WHAT    ZAIDEE    AND    HELEN    FOUND.   187 

She  did  not  mean  to  hurt  him,  but  she  poked 
him  in  the  stomach  rather  harder  than  she 
meant.  Straightway  Brown-Eyes's  little  feet 
flew  out  like  a  windmill,  and  kicked  Zaidee  so 
vigourously  that  she  lost  her  balance,  and  nearly 
rolled  into  the  brook. 

Brown-Eyes  still  said  nothing. 

Zaidee  picked  herself  up  with  added  respect 
for  her  little  guest. 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  hurt  you,"  she  said,  stand- 
ing at  a  little  distance.  "  Do  you  want  to  play 
house  with  us  ?  Let 's  build  him  a  new  house, 
Helen.  Come,  boy,  you  get  some  stones." 

The  excitement  of  building  the  new  house 
soon  made  the  children  friends,  and  they  played 
together  happily,  though  Brown-Eyes  did  not 
grow  talkative. 

At  last  the  little  ones  grew  hungry,  and  they 
started  for  the  house,  taking  their  new  playmate 
with  them. 

"  Where  shall  we  keep  him  ? "  asked  Helen, 
as  they  trudged  up  the  lane  and  across  the  green 
lawn. 

"  We  'd  better  shut  him  up  for  awhile,  till  he 
gets  used  to  us,"  was  Zaidee's  advice.  "  That's 
the  way  we  did  with  kitty." 


188  CRICKET. 

"  We  can  put  him  in  the  laundry,"  suggested 
Helen.  "  We  put  kitty  there." 

As  the  house  stood  on  the  hillside  which  sloped 
gently  back  to  the  brook,  the  kitchen  and  laundry 
were  down  stairs.  No  one  noticed  the  children 
as  they  went  in  at  the  lower  door.  Cricket  and 
Eunice  were  off  for  a  long  scamper  on  their 
ponies,  and  Donald  and  his  cousins  were  away 
fishing,  while  Marjorie  had  gone  into  town  for 
the  day. 

The  laundry,  a  large,  light  room,  which  was 
on  one  side  of  the  lower  hall,  chanced  to  be 
deserted  when  they  went  in. 

"  Stay  here,  boy,"  said  Helen,  "  and  we  '11  bring 
you  something  to  eat,  if  you're  good." 

Brown-Eyes  nodded  gravely.  He  immediately 
sat  himself  down  on  the  floor,  with  his  sturdy 
little  feet  straight  out  in  front  of  him,  and  with 
his  hands  folded  in  his  lap.  "I  be  good,"  he 
said,  briefly.  He  never  wasted  his  words. 

The  twins  locked  the  laundry  door  and  ran 
across  to  the  kitchen.  They  intended  to  ask  if 
Eliza  had  their  luncheon  ready  for  them  upstairs, 
and  to  tell  her  to  get  something  for  the  Boy ; 
but  cook  had  just  taken  from  the  oven  the  most 
distracting  cookies,  all  in  shapes  of  little  pigs. 


WHAT    ZAIDEE    AND    HELEN    FOUND.    189 

"  Oh-h  !  "  squealed  the  children  in  concert. 

"  An'  here 's  a  plateful  fur  yer  auntie,"  said 
cook.  "  Be  off  wid  yerself,  an'  don't  come  nigh 
me  agin  till  me  floor 's  mopped  entirely." 

Off  scampered  Zaidee  and  Helen  with  the 
cookies,  in  great  delight,  and  quite  forgot  their 
little  prisoner  in  the  laundry.  They  found 
auntie  on  the  cool,  vine-covered  piazza. 

"  What  hot  little  girlies ! "  she  exclaimed,  put- 
ting back  the  curly  hair  from  the  warm,  shiny 
little  faces.  "  Eliza,"  she  called  to  the  nurse, 
who  passed  through  the  hall  at  that  moment, 
"  take  the  children  upstairs  and  wash  their  hands 
and  faces.  Then  come  back  here,  little  ones,  and 
auntie  will  read  you  a  story  while  you  cool  off." 

The  twins  went  very  willingly,  and  soon  came 
back,  fresh  and  sweet.  They  perched  them- 
selves on  the  broad  arms  of  auntie's  chair, 
munching  cookies  and  rocking  comfortably, 
while  auntie  read  to  them. 

Suddenly  a  nursemaid  came  running  up  the 
avenue. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  ma'am,"  she  said,  breath- 
lessly. "  I'm  Mrs.  Bennett's  nurse,  and  she 's 
lost  Phelps.  We  can't  find  him  anywhere,  and 
Mrs.  Bennett's  most  distracted." 


190  CRICKET. 

The  Bennetts  were  new  people,  who  had  lately 
come  for  the  summer,  having  taken  a  house  near 

by. 

"Is  the  little  boy  lost?"  asked  Mrs.  Somers, 
rising.  "  No,  he  has  not  been  here.  When  did 
you  miss  him  ?  " 

"  It's  over  two  hours  since  anyone's  seen  him, 
ma'am.  I  was  busy  and  thought  he  was  with 
his  ma,  and  she  thought  I  had  him.  We  did  n't 
miss  him  till  about  half  an  hour  ago,  and  we've 
looked  everywhere  about  the  house  and  grounds. 
I  just  thought  he  might  have  run  in  here, 
ma'am,"  said  the  frightened  maid. 

"  He  certainly  has  not  been  here ! "  said  auntie, 
"  Have  you  seen  Phelps,  children?" 

"  No,"  they  both  said,  positively. 

They  had  n't  seen  Phelps.  They  had  n't  ever 
seen  him. 

"  I  'm  so  sorry,"  said  auntie.  "  Still  he  can't 
have  gone  very  far.  Eliza,  ask  Mike  or  Thomas 
if  they  've  seen  the  child  anywhere  around  this 
morning.  Have  you  been  to  the  village  ? " 

"  Mrs.  Bennett 's  just  gone  up  there,  herself, 
ma'am,"  returned  the  nurse.  "  And  the  gar- 
dener has  gone  the  other  way  to  look  for  him." 

Eliza  came  back  and  said  that  Mike  had  seen 


WHAT   ZAIDEE   AND    HELEN   FOUND.   191 

such  a  little  fellow  further  down  the  road,  near 
the  farm-house,  earlier  in  the  morning. 

"  P'raps  our  man  has  found  him,  then,"  said  the 
nurse,  hurrying  off,  while  auntie  sent  Eliza  again 
to  tell  Mike  and  Thomas  to  join  in  the  search. 

"Auntie,"  broke  out  Zaidee,  a  little  while 
later,  "I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  we've  got  a 
little  boy  of  our  own,  down  stairs." 

"A  little  boy,  Zaidee?"  said  auntie,  laying 
down  her  book.  "  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  We  finded  him,  auntie,  he 's  ours"  said  Zai- 
dee, earnestly.  "  Come  and  see  him." 

"  We  finded  him  down  by  the  brook,  in  our 
playhouse,"  chimed  in  Helen.  "  He 's  ours, 
auntie.  He  's  awful  cunning.  We  're  going  to 
keep  him  and  feed  him  as  we  did  the  kitty  that 
we  finded  once,  and  when  Kenneth  comes  home 
they  can  be  twins,  just  like  us." 

"  But,  children,"  exclaimed  auntie,  "  it  must 
be  Phelps.  Where  is  he?  Why  didn't  you 
speak  before  ?  You  said  you  had  n't  seen  him." 

"It  isn't  Phelps,"  insisted  Zaidee.  "He's 
ours.  We  finded  him.  He  hasn't  any  name, 
only  just  Boy.  He  does  n't  live  anywhere.  He 
said  so.  Please  let  us  keep  him,"  she  pleaded. 
"  Mamma  let  us  keep  the  kitty." 


192  CRICKET. 

"  You  ridiculous  children,"  said  auntie.  "  A 
little  boy  is  n't  like  a  cat.  Tell  me  where  he  is, 
now." 

"  He 's  in  the  laundry,  where  we  put  the  kitty. 
He 's  getting  used  to  us.  He 's  real  good,  and 
he  doesn't  cry  at  all;  he  won't  be  a  bit  of 
trouble  !  "  begged  Helen. 

Auntie  flew  down  stairs,  the  children  follow- 
ing, and  protesting  all  the  way  against  his  being 
sent  off.  Auntie  unlocked  the  laundry  door 
hastily  and  looked  in.  There  sat  Master  Brown- 
Eyes,  exactly  as  they  had  left  him  an  hour  before. 

"  Phelps  are  hungry,"  he  announced  at  once, 
looking  reproachfully  at  the  twins. 

Auntie  picked  up  the  patient  baby  in  her  arms. 

"  You  poor  little  soul ! "  she  exclaimed.  But 
Brown-Eyes  resisted  strongly. 

"  Put  me  down,"  he  said,  for  his  dignity  was 
much  hurt. 

"  Oh,  are  you  going  to  send  him  away  ?  "  asked 
Helen,  ready  to  cry.  "  Please  let  us  keep  him 
just  till  Kenneth  comes  home,  then.  He 's  lots 
better  than  the  kitty  was." 

"  He  certainly  is,"  said  auntie,  laughing,  "  for 
kitty  would  not  have  stayed  there  quietly  for 
so  long." 


WHAT   ZAIDEE   AND   HELEN   FOUND.    193 

She  was  carrying  struggling  Phelps  upstairs, 
while  the  twins  tagged  on  behind. 

"There's  Eliza  and  the  men,  now,"  auntie 
said,  when,  breathless,  she  reached  the  piazza. 
"  Run,  Zaidee,  and  tell  them  that  Phelps  is 
found.  Tell  Mike  to  go  to  Mrs.  Bennett's  and 
tell  her. —  There,  my  little  man,  eat  some  of 
these  cookies  and  stop  kicking." 

Phelps  wriggled  out  of  auntie's  lap,  and  pre- 
ferred to  eat  his  cookies,  standing  on  his  own 
two  stout  legs,  while  the  twins  eyed  him,  in  deep 
disappointment. 

Their  visitor  ate  all  the  cookies  there  were 
left,  and  then  he  suddenly  said,  "I  are  doin' 
home  now,"  and  began  to  back  down  the  steps 
in  his  own  solemn  fashion. 

"  Oh,  Boy !  "  cried  Helen,  reproachfully  ;  "  you 
said  you  did  n't  have  any  home." 

Brown-Eyes  would  not  make  any  reply.  He 
trudged  down  the  avenue  soberly. 

"  Come,  twinnies,"  laughed  auntie,  "  we  '11  go 
and  look  after  him  and  see  that  he  does  n't  lose 
himself  again." 

"  Boy,"  called  Zaidee,  "  will  you  come  and  let 
us  find  you  again  ? " 

Brown-Eyes  nodded,  but  kept  on  his  way.     At 


194  CRICKET. 

the  gate  they  saw  a  lady  running  towards  them, 
from  the  direction  of  the  village. 

"I  are  dust  comin'  home,  mamma,"  called 
Phelps,  his  fat  legs  quickening  their  rate  to  a 
run. 

His  mamma  caught  him  in  her  arms,  and  this 
time  he  was  quite  content  to  nestle  in  her  neck. 

Auntie  told  her  how  it  had  all  happened,  and, 
now  that  the  fright  was  over,  Mrs.  Bennett  could 
laugh  at  the  story,  and  she  promised  that  her 
little  boy  should  come  and  see  the  twins,  even  if 
they  could  not  keep  him  as  their  own. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

MAMIE'S  MESSAGE. 

THE  doctor's  farmer,  'Gustus  John,  as  every- 
one called  him,  stood  at  his  little  white  gate, 
looking  down  the  road.  Dr.  Ward  was  coming 
up  from  the  village,  with  his  hands  full  of  letters, 
and  'Gustus  wanted  to  speak  to  him. 

"I  say,"  he  drawled,  as  the  doctor  came 
within  speaking  distance,  "  I  seen  yer  comin', 
an'  I  wanted  to  tell  you  about  thet  new  caow  o' 
yourn,  thet  we  bought  over  to  the  Fair  last  week. 
'T  ain't  no  bargain,  I'm  thinkin',  'n'  the  critter's 
all-fired  cross.  Nigh  on  to  horned  me  out  of 
the  stable  this  mornin'.  What  do  you  say  to 
fattening  her  up  for  beef  straight  off  ?  " 

"  Just  as  you  like,"  returned  the  doctor,  ab- 
sently, for  he  had  some  important  letters  in  his 
hand,  which  he  had  been  glancing  at  as  he 
walked.  "  I  never  like  to  have  cross  animals 
on  the  place,  lest  some  accident  might  happen 
with  so  many  children  about." 

"  Yes,  thet 's  another  p'int.     I  Ve  kinder  been 


196  CRICKET. 

layin'  round  for  them  little  girls  o'  yourn,  to 
warn  'em  off.  They  're  proper  fond  of  junketin, 
round  the  barns,  but  I  think  p'raps  they  'd  better 
make  themselves  skurse  while  this  critter  is  in 
the  barnyard.  I  hev  n't  put  her  out  with  the 
other  caows  to-day.  I  've  got  to  go  to  the  lower 
medder  this  mornin',  and  I  hain't  got  no  more 
time  to  waste  now.  P'raps  you'll  see  them?" 
'Gustus  had  a  very  soft  spot  in  his  heart  for  the 
doctor's  family,  and  always  kept  a  careful  look- 
out for  the  little  girls. 

"I'll  tell  them,  though  it  isn't  likely  that 
they  will  turn  up  at  the  house  before  dinner," 
said  the  doctor,  laughing.  "  They  are  very  busy 
young  women,  and  I  have  n't  an  idea  where  they 
are  this  morning.  I  '11  send  one  of  the  boys  in 
search  of  them." 

"  I  know  where  they  are,"  piped  up  Mamie, 
who,  as  usual,  was  hopping  around,  listening 
with  her  sharp  little  ears.  "They're  up  the 
brook,  by  the  stepping-stones.  I  seen  'em  there 
this  morning." 

"  You  kin  tell  'em  about  it,  then,"  said  her 
father,  turning  to  her.  "  Jog  along  over  there, 
an'  tell  'em  that  I  say  there 's  an  awful  fierce 
cow  in  the  barnyard,  and  they  better  keep  out 


MAMIE'S  MESSAGE.  197 

of  there  till  I  tell  'em  it's  safe.  Come,  ske- 
daddle." And  Mamie  "  skedaddled." 

The  doctor  watched  her  doubtfully  as  she  dis- 
appeared around  the  house.  "  Will  she  tell 
them?"  he  asked. 

"  She  '11  tell  'em  fast  enough,"  answered 
'Gustus  John.  "  She  '11  admire  to." 

"  I  '11  send  one  of  the  boys,  anyway,"  the  doc- 
tor said.  "  I  don't  want  to  run  any  risks.  Yes, 
do  as  you  like  with  the  cow,  if  she  is  really  so 
cross.  She  '11  spoil  the  others.  Fatten  her  for 
killing,  certainly.  I  'm  sorry,  for  she  is  of  good 
stock."  Then  the  doctor  went  on  up  the  hill, 
reading  his  letters  as  he  went.  Among  them  he 
found  a  note,  begging  him  to  come  at  once  to  a 
house  at  the  other  side  of  the  village,  on  a  little 
matter  of  business.  So  Mike  being  bidden  to 
harness  at  once,  the  doctor  drove  off,  quite  for- 
getting the  cross  cow,  and  that  he  meant  to 
send  one  of  the  boys  with  a  special  message  to 
his  little  daughters. 

Mamie,  meantime,  ran  across  the  pasture  in 
high  spirits.  How  delightful  to  be  able  to  tell 
those  big  girls  of  something  which  they  must 
not  do !  She  began  screaming  out  their  names 
at  the  top  of  her  lungs,  as  soon  as  she  came  in 


198  CRICKET. 

sight  of  them.  The  girls  sat  by  the  brook, 
busily  plaiting  little  baskets  out  of  pliant  willow 
twigs. 

"  Eunice !  Cricket !  my  pa  says  you  shan't 
go  in  our  barnyard  to-day,  so  there ! " 

"  Oh,  dear  me !  "  sighed  Cricket,  in  deep  dis- 
gust. "  If  there  is  n't  that  horrid  little  tag-tail 
again." 

It  was  not  very  often  that  Mamie  ventured  on 
the  Kayuna  grounds.  She  had  been  warned  off 
too  many  times,  with  too  many  threats  of  terri- 
ble things  happening  if  she  went  beyond  the 
farm-yard  bounds.  This  morning  her  errand 
made  her  bold. 

"  Do  you  hear  ? "  she  repeated,  in  her  shrill 
little  voice.  "  Pa  sez  he  won't  have  you  in  the 
barnyard  any  more.  I  don't  b'lieve  he'll  let 
you  in  the  barn  either,  'n'  then  you  can't  jump 
on  the  hay  ever  again." 

"  Well,  I  like  that ! "  exclaimed  Eunice,  not 
very  elegantly  it  must  be  confessed.  "  As  if  it 
was  n't,  really,  our  father's  barn." 

"  Don't  care.  My  pa  kin  boss  it,  'n'  he 's  goin' 
to,"  returned  Mamie,  enjoying  her  sense  of  impor- 
tance, and  teasingly  keeping  back  the  true  reason 
of  the  message. 


MAMIE'S  MESSAGE.  199 

"I'll  make  'em  good  and  angry,  first,"  she 
thought,  in  her  usual  mischievous  spirit.  "  Pa 
said  you  was  allers  a-junketin'  round.  I  heerd 
him,"  she  said,  aloud. 

"Well,  I'd  like  to  know,"  said  Cricket, 
angrily,  "  what  right  'Gustus  John  has  to  say 
what  we  shall  do  in  those  barns.  They  are  my 
papa's,  and  he  just  hires  your  father  to  look 
after  the  farm,  Mamie  Hecker.  And  papa  says 
we  may  play  in  the  barns  as  much  as  we  like,  if 
we  don't  'sturb  things,  and  'Gustus  John  says  we 
never  'sturb  anything  at  all.  I  don't  b'lieve  one 
word  of  it.  Do  you,  Eunice  ?  " 

"No,  I  don't.  But  I  think,"  said  Eunice, 
very  slowly  and  decidedly,  "  if  you  know  what 's 
good  for  yourself,  Mamie,  you  '11  get  off  our 
grounds,  just  as  fast  as  you  can  travel,  or  else 
-you'll  see!" 

"  You  don't  dast  spank  me  again,"  cried  Mamie, 
holding  up  one  knee,  while  she  balanced  herself 
on  one  foot,  "  cause  your  pa  told  you  never  to 
dast  do  that  again.  I  'xpect  he  'd  whip  you,  if 
you  did." 

"Whip  me!"  replied  Eunice,  scornfully. 
"  Whippings  are  for  bad  little  things  like  you, 
Mamie  ;  you  'd  be  better  if  you  got  a  lot  more  of 
them." 


200  CRICKET. 

The  children  never  stopped  to  choose  their 
words  when  they  talked  to  Mamie. 

"  Anyway,"  said  Mamie,  changing  the  sub- 
ject, but  with  a  sudden  purpose  of  revenge  for 
that  spanking  coming  into  her  mind,  "  your  own 
pa  said  just  so.  He  and  pa  was  a  talkin'  by  the 
gate,  an'  pa,  he  said,  '  wish  you  'd  hev  them 
girls  keep  out  of  the  barnyard,  for  they  're  allers 
a-junketin'  round.'  Them's  his  very  words. 
An'  yer  pa,  he  said, '  I  '11  tell  'cm  if  I  see  'em, 
but  like  as  not  I  won't ' ;  'n'  my  pa,  he  said, 
'  Mamie,  go  and  tell  'em  straight  off  this  minute, 
that  I  say  keep  out  of  the  barnyard  $ '  so  I  come, 
'cause  my  pa  an'  your  pa,  they  said  to,  both  on 
'em." 

"For  goodness  sake,  Mamie,  go  away  with 
your  '  pa's,' "  said  Cricket,  impatiently.  "  You 
do  make  me  so  cross.  I  don't  believe  a  word  of 
it.  'Gustus  never  in  his  life  told  us  to  keep  out 
of  the  barn."  Long  experience  with  Mamie 
made  the  girls  slow  to  believe  anything  she 
stated  for  a  fact. 

"He  said  so  this  time,  anyway,"  repeated 
Mamie,  much  enjoying  the  girls'  anger,  as  she 
fired  stones  into  the  brook  to  make  a  splash. 
ts  He  said  he  was  a-waitin'  round  to  warn  yer 


MAMIE'S  MESSAGE.  201 

off."  Then  she  thought,  "  I  won't  tell  'em  the 
reason  why,  at  all,  hateful  old  things,  V  then 
they  '11  be  sorry." 

It  must  be  remembered  that  rude  as  Cricket 
and  Eunice  now  certainly  were  to  the  child,  it  was 
only  that  a  long  time  of  bearing  Mamie's  teasing, 
provoking  ways  had  brought  them  to  speaking  to 
her  as  they  did.  They  scorned  to  tell  tales,  and 
the  elders  had  no  idea  how  tormenting  Mamie 
always  was.  "Worse  than  skeeters,"  Cricket 
said. 

Mamie  knew  precisely  the  effect  that  her 
words  would  probably  have.  Without  doubt, 
the  girls  would  go  to  the  barns  sometime  that 
day,  and  if  they  should  get  hooked  —  just  a 
little  —  by  that  cross  old  cow,  would  n't  they  be 
well  paid  up  for  spanking  her  that  day.  Of 
course  it  would  n't  be  her  fault,  for  she  had  told 
them  to  keep  away. 

"  You  've  got  to  keep  out  of  our  ba-arn ! 
You've  got  to  keep  out  of  our  ba-arn  !"  she  re- 
peated, in  a  sing-song  voice,  firing  a  particularly 
big  stone  into  the  water,  having  aimed  it  with 
great  care  close  to  where  Eunice  was  sitting. 
The  water  splashed  up,  spattering  her  well. 

"  You  mean  little  thing ! "  Eunice  cried,  spring- 


202  CRICKET. 

ing  up  in  a  fury.  Mamie  had  already  darted 
away,  and  was  flying  across  the  meadows  like  a 
little  brown  spider.  She  rolled  under  the  fence 
just  as  Eunice  was  upon  her. 

"  You  dassent  tetch  me  now  ! "  she  gasped, 
panting  for  breath.  "  I  'm  on  my  pa's  land." 

"Lucky  for  you,"  said  Eunice,  wrathfully. 
"  If  you  come  over  here  again  I  '11  take  you  up 
to  my  father,  if  Cricket  and  I  have  to  drag  you 
every  step  of  the  way.  Now  mind  ! " 

"  Oh,  dear,  very  smart  you  are ! "  jeered  Mamie, 
safe  on  her  side  of  the  fence.  "  I  expect  you  'd 
like  to  tear  me  into  limbs.  But  you'll  be  sorry 
if  you  don't  keep  out  of  my  pa's  barns,"  she 
added,  edging  off. 

"  They  're  my  father's  barns,  and  I  '11  go  in 
them  just  as  much  as  I  please,"  answered  Eu- 
nice, turning  away  with  much  dignity,  now  that 
she  had  driven  Mamie  well  off  the  grounds. 

"  What  can  she  have  meant  by  all  that  non- 
sense, Cricket,  do  you  think  ?  "  she  said,  seating 
herself  again.  "  The  idea  of  'Gustus  John  tell- 
ing us  to  keep  out  of  the  barns  !  He  would  as 
soon  think  of  telling  us  to  keep  out  of  our  own 
stables,"  she  added. 

"  Why,  I  think  she  just  wanted  to  plague  us, 


MAMIE'S  MESSAGE.  203 

and  could  n't  think  of  anything  else  to  say,"  an- 
swered Cricket.  "  Eunice,  I  do  b'lieve  we  have  n't 
been  down  to  the  barns  this  week.  Let 's  go  by- 
and-by,  and  jump  on  the  hay." 

"All  right.  Let's  go  now,"  said  Eunice, 
jumping  up.  "  I  feel  just  like  it.  I  'm  stiff  sit- 
ting still  so  long."  And  accordingly,  down 
went  the  willow  baskets,  and  off  ran  the  two 
little  maids. 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

THE   NEW   COW. 

THE  warm  sunshine  lay  full  on  the  great  barn- 
yard, and  the  silence  of  a  summer  morning  in 
the  country  lay  over  everything.  The  farm- 
hands were  off  at  work,  and  the  wide  barn-doors 
stood  open.  The  air  was  full  of  the  sweet,  warm 
odour  of  drying  hay. 

The  children  loved  the  big,  rambling  barn, 
with  its  dark,  dusky  corners,  and  they  would 
play  there  by  the  hour.  They  would  climb  up 
the  steep  ladders,  walk  fearlessly  across  the  big 
beams,  and,  with  a  wild  whoop,  would  plunge 
downward  on  the  mass  of  soft,  sweet-smelling 
hay  beneath. 

Cricket  had  learned  to  achieve  a  somersault 
while  in  mid-air,  and  was  very  proud  of  this  ac- 
complishment. Then  such  places  for  hide-and- 
seek,  when  they  could  coax  the  boys  to  join  them, 
did  the  dim  corners  afford !  Such  a  famous 
place  it  was  in  which  to  play  "  Indians,"  for  they 
could  barricade  themselves  behind  mounds  of 


THE    NEW    COW.  205 

hay,  and  fire  a  scattering  shot  of  grain  at  the 
enemy  who  besieged  them.  The  front  doors  of 
the  barn  were  level  with  the  lane,  but  behind  it, 
where  the  barnyard  was,  the  ground  fell  sharply, 
so  that  the  same  floor  was  a  second  story,  be- 
neath which  the  cow-stables  lay.  At  the  back 
of  the  barn,  opposite  the  front  door,  was  another 
wide  door,  opening  on  the  cowyard,  ten  feet  be- 
low, so  that  a  wagon  backed  up  there  could 
easily  be  loaded  from  above. 

Fortunately,  'Gustus  John  was  good-nature 
itself,  and  "  admired  to  hev  the  children  enjoy 
themselves,"  as  he  often  said.  In  all  their 
capers,  he  had  never  been  known  to  say  any- 
thing stronger  than,  "  Wai,  I  do  vum !  I  never 
see  sech  goin's-on."  It  was  for  this  reason  that 
Eunice  and  Cricket  did  not  in  the  least  believe 
Mamie  when  she  said  that  her  father  had  sent 
her  to  tell  them  not  to  go  into  the  barnyard 
that  day.  If  the  child  had  told  them  the  rea- 
son why,  they  would  not  have  thought  of  going, 
for,  with  all  their  faults,  they  were  rarely  directly 
disobedient.  They  were  too  well-trained  for 
that.  Dr.  Ward  believed  in  letting  the  children 
run  wild  all  summer,  while  they  were  in  the 
country,  and  there  were  but  two  things  he  was 


206  CKICKET. 

severe  with :  disobedience  and  the  want  of 
truth. 

As  the  girls  came  up,  the  barnyard  was  quite 
deserted  except  for  one  peaceful-looking  cow 
who  stood  quietly  chewing  her  cud  in  a  shady 
corner.  A  few  stray  hens  and  chickens  clucked 
and  scratched  in  the  straw.  Not  another  sound 
was  to  be  heard.  Even  Mamie  was  not  in 
sight. 

"  I  wonder  where  that  bad  little  thing  is  ? " 
said  Cricket,  looking  around,  and  half-expecting 
a  shower  of  pebbles,  by  way  of  greeting. 

"  Expect  she  's  gone  to  mourn  for  her  sins," 
said  Eunice. 

"That  will  take  her  some  time,"  laughed 
Cricket,  "  and  so  we  '11  have  a  little  peace. 
Isn't  that  the  new  cow  'Gustus  John  bought 
last  week  at  the  Fair  ?  I  wonder  why  it  is  n't 
in  the  pasture  with  the  rest." 

"I  don't  know.  Oh,  Cricket,  what  lovely 
boards ! "  exclaimed  Eunice.  "  I  suppose  'Gustus 
has  them  for  his  new  hen-house.  Let's  take 
one  of  them  and  see-saw." 

"  Oh,  goody,  let 's  !  "  and  the  little  girls  soon 
had  one  of  the  long  new  boards  down  from  the 
pile.  See-saw  was  an  old  amusement,  and  their 


THE   NEW   COW.  207 

favourite  place  to  balance  the  board  was  across 
one  of  the  open  spaces  in  the  barnyard  fence. 
One  little  girl  would  go  inside  the  yard  and  the 
other  would  stay  outside. 

"See  how  funny  that  cow  stands?"  said 
Cricket,  as  she  unfastened  the  gate  and  went 
into  the  barnyard,  in  order  to  pull  the  board 
through  as  Eunice  pushed  it  from  the  other  side. 

The  cow  stood  with  her  head  lowered  and  her 
tail  moving  restlessly,  watching  the  children's 
movements.  Cricket,  however,  too  used  to  cows 
to  fear  them,  did  not  notice  her  further,  and  drew 
the  board  to  the  right  position  to  balance.  Then 
with  much  squealing  and  laughing  —  little-girl 
fashion  —  the  two  seated  themselves,  and  the 
fun  began. 

"  See-saw  !  see-saw  !  here  we  go  up  and  down," 
sang  the  children  gayly,  as  Cricket's  head  rose 
above  the  fence  and  Eunice  went  down.  They 
did  not  see  Mamie  peeping  at  them  from  the 
barn-door  that  opened  above  the  cowyard,  and 
they  rather  wondered  at  her  unusual  absence. 

"  It 's  just  lovely  to  have  that  Mamie  out  of 
the  way,"  remarked  Cricket,  as  she  went  up 
again. 

"  Too  good  to  last,"  returned  Eunice. 


208  CRICKET. 

At  this  moment  a  scream  came  from  the  barn- 
door above  them. 

"  Oh,  Cricket,  look  out  for  the  new  cow ! " 
but  too  late  came  Mamie's  warning.  The  new 
cow,  frantic  at  the  strange  sight  of  a  bright- 
coloured  spot  moving  up  and  down  before  her 
very  eyes,  with  a  rush  bolted  across  the  yard 
and  caught  the  descending  board  right  on  her 
horns.  The  next  second  Cricket  was  spinning- 
through  the  air  and  came  down  against  Eunice 
with  a  force  that  stunned  them  both. 

A  sudden  peal  of  impish  laughter  rang  out 
from  the  barn,  changing  almost  instantly  to  a 
shrill  cry  of  terror.  Mamie,  hopping  about,  as 
usual,  on  one  foot,  had  lost  her  balance,  and 
plunged  downward,  head  foremost. 

The  shrill  cries  still  continued  when  Cricket, 
a  few  moments  after,  sat  up  slowly  and  looked 
around  her. 

"Why,  what  in  the  world—  "  she  began, 
pushing  back  her  curly  mop  with  both  hands,  in 
the  greatest  bewilderment,  —  then  she  looked 
down  at  Eunice,  who  lay  white  and  unconscious 
on  the  ground.  The  back  of  her  head  had 
struck  sharply  against  a  stone,  for  she  had 
caught  the  full  force  of  Cricket's  fall.  The 


CRICKET    FIXDS    KUXICK    UXCOXSCIOUS. 


THE   NEW   COW.  211 

latter,  consequently,  had  escaped  being  seriously 
hurt. 

"  Eunice !  "  cried  Cricket,  wild  with  terror, 
"  speak  to  me  !  What 's  the  matter,  Eunice  ?  " 
and  she  tried  to  lift  her  sister  in  her  arms.  She 
had  never  seen  unconsciousness  before,  and  for 
one  terrible  moment  she  thought  that  she  was 
dead.  Eunice,  at  the  movement,  opened  her 
eyes  and  tried  to  speak. 

Meanwhile  Mamie's  cries  were  ringing  out,  — 

"  Ow !  ow  !  Cricket,  come  take  me  off !  she 's 
a-hooking  my  feet ! " 

As  Eunice  stirred,  Cricket  turned,  and  even 
in  her  terror  and  excitement  she  laughed  at  the 
sight  she  saw.  Mamie  had  lost  her  balance  and 
plunged  forward,  but  as  she  went  over  the  sill, 
her  stout  gingham  frock  caught  on  a  projecting 
nail  a  few  inches  down,  and  there  she  still  hung, 
arms  waving  and  legs  wildly  kicking,  and  send- 
ing out  shriek  after  shriek.  Below,  the  ugly 
cow  was  lowering  her  head  and  striking  at  the 
dangling  feet,  every  now  and  then  hitting  them. 
"  Pull  me  up,  Cricket !  "  Mamie  screamed,  nearly 
in  convulsions  of  terror,  her  struggling  making 
the  matter  still  worse. 

As  Cricket  rose  unsteadily  to  her  feet,  and 


212  CRICKET. 

saw  the  situation,  the  whole  thing  flashed  into 
her  quick  brain.  Mamie  had  been  sent  to  tell 
them  to  keep  out  of  the  barnyard,  because  the 
new  cow  was  ugly,  and  she  had  purposely  given 
only  half  the  message.  And  here  was  Eunice 
half-killed  as  a  result.  Of  her  own  bruises  she 
never  thought. 

"  I  don't  care !  "  she  screamed,  passionately, 
in  answer  to  Mamie's  shrieks.  "  I  don't  care  if 
you're  all  hooked  up!  You've  killed  my 
Eunice,  and  I  hope  you  are  satisfied,"  and  she 
knelt  by  her  sister  again. 

"I'll  never  be  bad  any  more,"  shrieked 
Mamie,  at  the  top  of  her  lungs.  "  Help  —  me 
—  up,  —  Cricket." 

"  I  don't  care,"  repeated  Cricket,  angrily,  but 
really  scarcely  knowing  whether  to  run  for  help, 
or  stay  with  Eunice,  or  help  Mamie.  "That 
hateful,  hateful  little  thing  !  Serves  her  right." 

But  in  a  moment  Cricket's  better  self  came 
to  the  front,  at  Mamie's  last  piercing  cry,  — 

"  Ow !  ow !  she  's  hurt  my  foot  awful !  " 

Cricket  sprang  up  and  ran  around  to  the 
barn  door.  Her  knee  was  cut  and  bleeding, 
but  she  did  not  heed  it.  She  darted  across  the 
barn  floor  to  the  door  at  the  back.  It  was  not 


THE   NEW   COW.  213 

an  easy  matter  to  decide  what  she  was  to  do, 
for  Mamie,  though  she  was  slight  and  small, 
would  be  a  dead  weight  on  her  as  she  pulled  her 
up,  and  then  also,  she  suddenly  discovered  that 
her  left  shoulder  was  strained  and  sore.  But 
there  was  no  time  to  hesitate,  for  Mamie's 
position  was  dangerous  as  well  as  absurd. 
Her  struggles  might  release  her  dress  at  any 
moment,  and  those  angry  horns  and  hoofs  were 
waiting  below. 

Cricket  grasped  a  stout,  wooden  staple  at  the 
side  of  the  door-frame  with  her  right  hand, 
and,  bending  far  over,  she  slipped  her  left  arm 
around  Mamie's  waist.  Mamie  clutched  her 
instantly. 

"  Stop  wiggling,"  said  Cricket,  sharply.  It 
was  no  small  task  for  her,  with  her  strained 
arm,  to  bring  Mamie  up  even  those  ten  inches, 
but  with  a  desperate  effort  she  drew  her  up  to  a 
sitting  position  on  the  door-sill,  so  the  child 
could  scramble  in  herself.  For  one  second  she 
felt  as  if  her  arm  was  being  dragged  out  of  her 
body,  and  only  long  practice  in  swinging  off 
limbs  of  trees,  and  drawing  herself  up  again, 
had  made  her  muscles  equal  to  the  strain. 

Mamie  climbed  in,  and  then  stood  perfectly 


214  CRICKET. 

still,  for  once,  with  nothing  to  say,  looking  at 
Cricket  out  of  the  tail  of  her  eye.  If  Cricket 
had  fallen  on  her  and  thrashed  her  soundly,  she 
would  have  taken  it  without  a  murmur.  But 
Cricket,  of  course,  had  no  such  idea.  She 
stood  for  a  moment,  looking  at  her  small  enemy 
in  silence,  and  then  raced  out  of  the  barn,  back 
to  her  beloved  Eunice.  She  found  her  sitting 
up  and  looking  very  dazed  and  white.  She  had 
not  the  least  idea  what  had  happened  to  them, 
and  was  too  confused  to  ask. 

"Do  you  feel  as  if  you  could  walk  home  ? " 
asked  Cricket,  putting  her  arm  very  tenderly 
around  her ;  "  or  will  you  stay  here  while  I  go 
for  Mike  to  bring  you  home  in  the  carriage  ?  or 
do  you  want  to  go  into  the  farm-house,  and  get 
Manda  to  give  you  something  ?  " 

"  I  think  —  I  '11  —  go  home,"  said  Eunice,  her 
nerves  decidedly  shaken,  and  her  head  still 
dizzy  from  the  effects  of  the  blow.  "  I  '11  —  try 
—  to-walk." 

Cricket  helped  her  up,  and  put  her  arm  about 
her  to  steady  her. 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

MAMIE'S  KEPENTANCE. 

MAMIE  went  sneaking  past  them  to  the  house 
and  went  into  the  kitchen  where  her  mother  was 
at  work. 

"  Oh,  ma  !  "  she  cried.  "  The  girls  has  been 
in  the  barnyard  where  that  cross  cow  is,  'n' 
Cricket  got  knocked  over  the  fence,  and  Eunice 
is  most  killed  I  guess,  'n'  I  don't  b'lieve  she  kin 
walk  home." 

"  Got  hooked  !  Law  ful  suz  !  You  don't  say 
so !  "  and  'Manda  hurriedly  wiped  her  hands 
and  ran  out  to  the  lane.  The  barn  was  not  far 
from  the  house,  but  the  kitchen  was  on  the 
further  side,  so  she  had  not  noticed  the  chil- 
dren's screams. 

She  ran  to  meet  the  girls  and  caught  Eunice 
up  in  her  strong  arms.  "  You  poor  little  dear," 
she  exclaimed.  "I'll  carry  you  right  along 
myself.  Here,  Cricket,  you  hang  on  to  me  too ; " 
for  Cricket  was  limping  by  this  time,  with  her 
knee  aching  more  every  minute. 


216  CRICKET. 

'Manda  was  very  comforting,  for  she  was  too 
used  to  the  children's  mishaps  even  to  ask  how 
things  had  happened.  "  Come  in  and  rest  a 
spell,"  she  coaxed,  "  and  let  me  put  some  hot 
water  on  your  head,  poor  dear." 

"  I  want  to  go  home,"  repeated  Eunice,  still 
half -crying. 

"  Well,  so  you  shall,  an'  I  '11  carry  you  right 
up  there,  myself.  'Course  yer  ma's  yer  best 
friend  when  you  're  hurt.  Hi !  there  goes  the 
doctor  now!  Hi!  Hi!" 

Dr.  Ward,  returning  from  his  call,  drew  up 
his  horse  as  he  crossed  the  little  bridge  at  the 
sound  of  the  cry. 

"Suthin'  happened,  just  the  same  as  usual, 
doctor,"  'Manda  said,  as  the  party  came  up, 
with  Mamie  well  in  the  rear. 

The  doctor  sprang  out  of  his  buggy,  looking 
rather  anxious.  There  were  certainly  draw- 
backs to  having  a  pair  of  romps  for  daughters. 

He  hastily  took  Eunice  in  his  arms. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  dear.     Did  you  fall  ?" 

"  Not  —  not  exactly,"  said  Eunice.  "  I  don't 
know  exactly  what  happened,  but  somehow 
Cricket  flew  over  the  fence,  and  fell  on  top  of 
me,  and  — and  I  think  my  head  knocked  into  a 
stone,  and  my  back  hurts  too." 


MAMIE'S  REPENTANCE.  217 

"  Flew  over  the  fence  ?     What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  That  old  cow  hooked  me  over,"  flashed  out 
Cricket.  "We  were  see-sawing,  just  peaceably, 
and  the  old  thing  came  up  behind  me  and  boosted 
me  right  over  the  fence,  and  'course  I  fell  on 
Eunice  pretty  hard,  and  we  got  all  mixed  up 
with  the  end  of  the  boards  and  some  stones. 
Eunice  is  more  hurt  than  I  am,  though." 

"  The  cow,"  said  the  doctor,  looking  suddenly 
stern.  "  Did  you  go  into  the  barnyard  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  we  always  do,  you  know." 

"  Did  n't  you  get  my  message  ?  " 

"Yes  —  but — well,  I  didn't  really  believe 
Mamie,  'cause  she  did  n't  say  why,"  burst  out 
Cricket,  after  a  moment's  hesitation.  "  And  we 
always  go  in  the  barns  whenever  we  wish,  and 
'Gustus  John  never  says  a  word.  And  oh,  dear ! 
I  do  feel  as  if  the  socket  was  pulled  out  of  my 
arm."  And  Cricket,  between  excitement  and 
pain,  burst  out  crying. 

Her  father  had  gathered  enough  from  her 
story  to  feel  sure  that  there  had  been  no  real 
disobedience,  and  seeing  the  children's  nervous- 
ness and  pain,  he  put  them  both  into  the  buggy, 
and  as  speedily  as  possible  gave  them  over  into 
the  care  of  mamma  and  nurse. 


218  CRICKET. 

It  was  several  days  before  Eunice  was  herself 
again,  for  she  had  really  had  a  hard  blow  both 
on  the  back  and  head,  and  for  two  days  she  was 
actually  willing  to  remain  in  bed.  She  really 
very  seldom  met  with  accidents,  for  she  was  not 
by  nature  nearly  so  much  of  a  romp  as  her 
younger,  sister,  and  was  far  less  rash  and  heed- 


Cricket  was  as  chirpy  as  ever  the  next  day. 
Her  knee  was  bound  up  and  she  hobbled  about, 
rather  enjoying  the  attention  she  received.  Her 
left  arm  was  somewhat  stiff  and  lame,  for  she 
had  hit  her  left  side  with  considerable  force  as 
she  landed,  although  her  striking  Eunice  had 
somewhat  broken  her  fall. 

The  whole  story  had  come  out,  and,  as  usual, 
Cricket  had  to  undergo  a  fire  of  teasing. 

"  A  girl  with  the  sockets  pulled  out  of  her 
arms  ought  to  go  to  the  Dime  Museum,"  laughed 
papa,  as  they  all  sat  on  the  piazza  that  evening 
after  supper.  "  She's  a  natural  curiosity." 

"If  I 'm  a  natural  curiosity,  then  I  wish  I 
were  an  unnatural  one.  I  don't  think  I  'm  nice 
a  bit,"  said  Cricket,  candidly.  "  Things  never 
happen  to  Eunice  and  Hilda,  if  I  'm  not  along. 
Just  think,  if  I  had  n't  hit  Eunice  she  would  n't 


MAMIE'S  KEPENTANCE.  219 

have  been  hurt  a  bit,"  for  Cricket  took  her  sis- 
ter's injuries  very  much  to  heart. 

"  You  always  have  such  romantic  accidents,' 
teased  Donald.  "  Think  how  thrilling  it  is  to  bo 
run  away  with  by  a  raging  span  of  oxen,  and 
fancy  the  excitement  of  being  tossed  by  the  cow 
with  a  crumpled  horn !  " 

"  I  really  should  think  you  would  n't  care  to 
look  a  piece  of  beef  in  the  face,"  laughed  Will. 

"  Plant  Cricket  and  what  would  she  come  up," 
asked  Archie,  and  Cricket  herself  answered, 
quickly, — 

"  Cow-slip.     That's  good.     Ask  another  one." 

"  Can't ;  you  're  too  bright." 

"  I  'd  have  given  a  sixpence  to  see  Mamie 
Hecker  dangling  on  that  hook,"  said  Will. 
"  Little  imp !  " 

"  It  was  n't  very  funny  to  fish  her  up,"  said 
Cricket,  seriously,  "  for  it  did  pull  the  sockets  out 
of  my  arm.  Why  is  n't  that  right  to  say,  papa ! " 

"  Because  your  arms  are  put  in  the  sockets,  my 
dear,  not  the  sockets  in  your  arms." 

"  Oh !  well,  I  hope  it  will  teach  Mamie  a  lesson ; 
and  the  next  time  she  has  a  message  to  give,  I 
hope  she  '11  give  it." 

"  What  do  you  think !  "  exclaimed  Marjorie. 


220  CKICKET. 

"  Here  's  Mamie  Hecker  coming  up  the  avenue 
now." 

Sure  enough,  there  was  Mamie  in  her  stiffly- 
starched  best  white  dress,  and  her  Sunday  hat 
on  her  head,  coming  very  slowly  up  towards  the 
house.  This  was  very  unusual,  for  Mamie  knew 
her  bounds.  The  family  watched  her  with  inter- 
est to  see  what  she  meant  to  do. 

Cricket  slipped  hastily  behind  mamma.  "  I 
don't  want  to  see  her,"  slie  said,  impatiently. 

Mamie    came  awkwardly  to  the  foot  of  the 


"  Is  Cricket  here  ?  "  she  asked,  with  a  very 
unusual  shyness  in  her  manner,  which  was 
partly  due  to  the  fact  that  she  had  on  her  best 
clothes  on  a  week-day. 

Cricket  came  unwillingly  forward  in  obedi- 
ence to  mamma's  touch. 

"  I  want  to  speak  to  you,"  Mamie  said,  still 
shyly. 

Cricket  came  slowly  down  the  steps,  half  ex- 
pecting some  trick,  since  she  knew  Mamie's  ways 
so  well.  But  the  child  was  in  earnest  this 
time.  She  stood  uneasily,  first  on  one  foot  and 
then  on  the  other,  not  quite  knowing  how  to  say 
what  she  wanted  to. 


MAMIE'S  REPENTANCE.  221 

"  See  here,"  she  burst  out,  at  length.  "  1  've 
brought  you  those,"  holding  out  a  brown  paper 
bag.  "  Ma  said  I  might.  I  bought  'em  with 
the  five  cents  that  the  minister  give  me.  An'  — 
an'  —  I  'm  awful  sorry  I  did  n't  tell  you  'bout  the 
cow  right  straight  off,  —  an'  —  I  'm  not  goin'  to 
tag  you  any  more." 

Cricket  took  the  bag  that  the  child  held 
toward  her. 

"  Why,  Mamie,  you  should  n't  have  spent  your 
five  cents  for  me,"  began  Cricket,  shy  in  her 
turn,  and  hardly  knowing  what  to  say.  "  But 
it 's  very  good  of  you." 

"  I  told  my  ma  'n'  pa  'bout  my  not  telling 
you,  and  they  was  awful  took  back.  Pa  said 
you  might  have  been  killed.  An'  then  you 
went  and  pulled  me  up  with  that  lame  arm 
of  yourn,"  Mamie  went  on,  in  a  lower  tone, 
putting  out  one  finger  to  touch  Cricket's  left 
arm,  of  which  the  fingers  were  still  a  little  stiff 
and  swollen.  "  I  ain't  forgot  that.  I  'm  a-goin' 
to  be  gooder  all  the  time,  now,"  and  here  Mamie, 
quite  overcome  by  her  feelings,  gave  the  brown 
paper  bag  in  Cricket's  hand,  a  final  pat,  and, 
turning  around,  scampered  away  to  the  gates  as 
fast  as  her  feet  could  carry  her. 


222  CRICKET. 

"  Well,  I  say  !  "  Donald  exclaimed,  as  Cricket, 
still  looking  very  much  amazed,  came  up  the 
steps.  "  I  should  call  that  a  case  of  clear  re- 
pentance. Real  article." 

"  I  've  hopes  of  Mamie,  now,"  said  Marjorie. 

"  That  certainly  is  very  touching,"  said 
mamma,  gently. 

"  Cricket,  you  fished  to  some  purpose  when 
you  brought  up  Mamie  from  the  depths,"  added 
Will. 

"  Whatever  has  she  brought  as  a  peace-offer- 
ing ?  "  asked  Archie,  curiously. 

Cricket  opened  the  bag  and  displayed  five 
chocolate  mice. 

"  If  they  were  only  cows,  now,"  shouted  Will. 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

WHEN   MAMMA    WAS    A    LITTLE    GIRL. 

THE  next  morning  rather  dragged.  Eunice 
was  up  and  about  again,  though  she  looked  a 
trifle  pale,  and  did  not  feel  in  the  mood  even 
for  a  drive.  Cricket  went  out  for  a  short  time 
with  Mopsie,  and  took  the  twins  with  her,  but 
she  soon  came  back,  finding  that  the  motion 
of  the  pony-cart  made  her  arm  ache. 

Mamma  and  auntie  were  sitting  on  the  piazza 
under  the  vines,  with  their  embroidery,  and 
Cricket  found  Eunice  there,  also,  comfortably 
settled  in  the  broad  Mexican  hammock. 

"  Come  here,  Cricket,"  Eunice  called,  "  for 
mamma  is  going  to  tell  us  stories." 

"  Goody !  "  cried  Cricket,  skipping  up  joyfully, 
in  spite  of  her  stiff  knee. 

Was  there  ever  a  child  to  whom  mamma's 
stories  were  not  a  mine  of  delight  ? 

"Curl  up  in  the  other  hammock,  pet,"  said 
mamma,  "  and  rest  while  we  talk.  You  don't 
look  like  my  Cricket,  yet." 


224  CRICKET. 

Cricket  stopped  to  give  mamma  one  of  her 
bear-squeezes,  —  for  she  looked  so  cool  and 
sweet  and  pretty  to  her  little  girl,  as  she  sat  in 
her  low  chair,  —  and  then  she  climbed  into  an- 
other hammock,  and  settled  herself  comfortably 
to  listen. 

"  What  shall  I  tell  you  about  ? "  asked 
mamma,  ready  to  begin.  "I  think  I've  told 
you  every  single  thing  I  ever  did,  when  I  was  a 
little  girl." 

" Tell  us  anything"  said  the  children,  in 
chorus.  "  Never  mind  if  you  have  told  it 
before." 

"  Let  me  see.  Did  I  ever  tell  you  about  my 
first  lie  ?  Indeed,  my  only  one,  for  that  matter." 

"  Why,  mamma ! "  cried  Cricket,  in  great 
surprise.  "  Did  you  ever  tell  a  story  ?  I  did  n't 
know  that  little  girls  ever  used  to  do  that.  I 
thought  they  were  all  so  good." 

"  This  happened  when  I  was  a  very  little  girl, 
dear.  Do  you  remember,"  mamma  asked  auntie, 
"  that  little  lilac  print  dress  I  had  when  I  was 
about  five  years  old  ?  It  was  such  a  pretty  little 
dress." 

"  I  remember  the  dress  very  well,  and  what 
happened  the  first  time  you  wore  it,"  laughed 
auntie. 


WHEN   MAMMA   WAS   A   GIRL.          225 

"  Yes,  that 's  the  time  I  mean.  Well,  chil- 
dren, I  had  on  this  little  new  dress,  of  which  I 
was  very  proud.  It  was  an  afternoon  in  early 
spring,  and  it  was  the  first  cambric  dress  that  I 
had  had  on  that  season,  so  I  felt  particularly 
fine  in  it.  Auntie  Jean  and  I  ran  out  to  play. 
You  remember,  don't  you,  children,  how  the 
house  and  barns  at  your  grandfather's  are,  and 
how  steep  the  little  hill  back  of  the  barn  is  ?  It 
was  all  green  and  grassy,  and  we  loved  to  play 
there.  Jean's  new  dress  was  not  quite  finished, 
so  she  had  on  her  regular  little  afternoon  frock, 
and  I  felt  prouder  than  ever  of  mine.  I  plumed 
myself  so  much,  that  finally  Jean  would  n't  play 
with  me.  I  know  I  made  myself  very  disagreea- 
ble," added  mamma,  smiling. 

"There  were  barrels  and  boxes  back  of  the 
barn,  where  we  used  to  play  house.  I  got  up  on 
one  of  the  boxes,  after  a  time,  when  Jean  left 
me  to  myself,  and  I  began  jumping  off  it.  Jean 
was  arranging  the  play-house  near  by.  The 
hill,  with  its  short,  green  grass,  looked  very  in- 
viting to  me,  and  presently  I  called  to  Jean, '  I 
dare  jump  off  this  box,  and  roll  right  down  the 
hill  over  and  over.' 

"  '  I   would  n't,'    Jean    said,   very  pleasantly, 


226  CRICKET. 

'  you  might  spoil  your  new  dress.'  She  really 
meant  to  advise  me  not  to  do  it,  but  I  thought 
that  she  meant  that  I  was  afraid  of  nay  new 
frock. 

"  '  Yes,  I  dare,  too,  and  I  will,'  I  said,  and  off 
I  jumped  and  rolled  sideways  down  the  hill, 
over  and  over.  It  had  rained  in  the  night,  and, 
though  the  hill  was  dry,  the  water  had  collected 
in  a  little  hollow  at  the  foot,  which  I  did  not 
notice  on  account  of  the  grass.  Through  this  I 
rolled,  splash." 

"  Just  like  me,"  remarked  Cricket,  with  much 
interest.  "  Eunice  says  I  'd  tumble  into  the 
water,  if  there  was  n't  a  saucerful  around." 

"  Yes,  very  much  like  you,"  returned  mamma, 
smiling.  "  When  I  got  up,  my  pretty  little  lilac 
frock,  of  course,  was  all  draggled  and  stained." 

"  What  an  object  you  looked ! "  laughed 
auntie,  "  and  how  angry  you  were ! " 

"  Yes,"  said  mamma,  laughing,  also.  "  That 
was  the  funny  part  of  it.  I  was  so  angry,  but 
I  'm  sure  I  don't  know  who  with.  I  felt  that 
somebody  was  very  much  to  blame,  but  I  was  n't 
at  all  willing  to  say  that  that  somebody  was  my 
naughty  little  self.  I  got  up,  and  looked  down 
at  my  dress.  Then  I  called  out  angrily,  « See 


WHEN   MAMMA   WAS   A   GIRL.  227 

what  you  've  done,  Jean  Maxwell,'  as  I  stood  at 
the  foot  of  the  hill.  Jean  looked  at  me  as  I 
came  climbing  up,  scolding  all  the  way,  and 
then  she  burst  out  laughing.  I  suppose  I  was  a 
very  funny  object,  but  I  did  n't  feel  funny  at 
all." 

"  It  was  funny  enough  to  hear  you  scold,  and 
that  was  principally  what  I  was  laughing  at," 
said  auntie. 

"  I  dare  say,"  answered  mamma.  "  By  the 
time  I  reached  the  top  of  the  hill  I  was  in  a 
great  rage.  I  used  to  get  into  rages  very  easily, 
then." 

"  You,  mamma  ? "  Eunice  looked  as  if  she 
could  scarcely  believe  it. 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  I  was  n't  always  a  good  little 
girl  in  those  days.  *  I  'm  going  to  tell  mother 
what  a  naughty  girl  you  are,  Jean,'  I  half-sobbed. 

"  '  What  a  naughty  girl  -Tarn  ?  You  'd  better 
tell  her  what  a  naughty  girl  you  are  yourself, 
rolling  down  hill,  and  getting  your  dress  all 
dirty,'  Jean  said,  getting  angry  in  her  turn. 
Then  she  went  on  with  her  play-house  and 
would  n't  speak  to  me  any  more.  I  ran  crying 
towards  the  house.  Before  I  got  there,  I  had 
quite  made  up  my  mind  that  it  was  certainly  all 


228  CRICKET. 

Jean's  fault,  somehow,  and  that  if  it  had  n't 
been  for  what  she  said,  I  should  n't  have  rolled 
down  the  hill  in  the  first  place,  and  so  I 
should  n't  have  spoiled  my  new  dress. 

"  I  burst  into  the  sitting-room,  where  your 
grandmother  sat  sewing.  You  know  what  a 
lovely  old  lady  grandma  is  now,  children,  with 
her  white  puffs  and  dark  eyes,  and  she  was  just 
as  lovely  then,  when  her  hair  was  black.  She 
looked  up,  as  I  rushed  in  panting. 

"'Gently,  gently,  little  daughter,'  she  said. 
'  What  has  happened  to  your  new  frock,  my 
dear  ?  oh,  what  a  sight  you  are ! ' 

"Now  I  knew  very  well  that  grandma 
wouldn't  have  punished  me  for  spoiling  the 
dress,  for  after  all,  it  was  an  accident.  I  had 
often  rolled  down  that  hill  before,  and  no  harm 
had  come  of  it.  So  I  don't,  in  the  least,  know 
what  made  me  say  it,  excepting  that  I  was  so 
angry,  but  almost  before  I  realized  it,  I  was 
saying  very  fast,  '  mother,  Jean  was  angry 
because  I  had  on  my  new  frock  and  she  had  n't, 
and  so,  when  I  was  just  standing  on  a  box,  sud- 
denly she  came  behind  me,  and  pushed  me 
over  as  hard  as  she  could,  and  I  rolled  down 
the  hill,  and  rolled  right  through  some  water, 


WHEN   MAMMA   WAS   A   GIRL.  229 

and  so  I've  spoiled  my  new  dress.'  I  was  so 
excited  that  it  never  occurred  to  mother  that  I 
was  not  speaking  the  truth.  I  was  so  little — 
only  five  years  old,  —  and  I  had  never  told  her 
a  lie  before. 

" '  Why !  why ! '  she  exclaimed,  laying  down 
her  work,  and  getting  up.  '  I  am  surprised 
that  Jean  should  do  that.  Come  upstairs  with 
me,  and  I  will  change  your  dress.'  That  was 
all  she  said  to  me  then,  for  mother  never 
scolded  at  one  child  for  what  another  one  did, 
as  I  have  heard  some  mothers  do,  and  of  course 
she  thought  this  was  Jean's  fault.  So  she  took 
me  upstairs  to  the  big  nursery  and  took  off 
my  dress. 

" '  I  'm  so  sorry,'  she  said, '  that  your  pretty 
little  dress  is  spoiled.  Now,  it  will  have  to  go 
straight  to  the  wash,  and  it  won't  look  so  pretty 
again.' 

"'That  naughty  Jean!'  I  ventured  to  say, 
growing  bolder. 

" «  Hush,  my  dear,'  said  grandma,  « I  will  talk 
to  Jean.  I  dare  say  she  did  not  mean  to  push 
you  so  hard.' " 

"  But  I  should  think,  mamma,"  broke  in 
Eunice, "  that  you  would  have  thought  that  Jean 


230  CRICKET. 

would  come  in  any  minute,  and  say  she  had  n't 
done  it  at  all." 

"  Of  course,  I  was  a  very  silly  little  girl  not 
to  think  of  that,"  answered  mamma,  "  but  it 
shows  that  I  was  n't  used  to  deceiving.  I  never 
thought  of  the  consequences.  Somehow,  too,  by 
that  time,  I  felt  quite  certain  that  I  was  telling 
the  exact  truth,  and  I  entirely  forgot  that  Jean 
would  soon  be  in  to  say  she  had  n't  touched  me. 

"Well,  only  a  few  minutes  after  that,  Jean 
came  into  the  house,  and  ran  quickly  upstairs 
to  the  nursery.  I  was  still  running  around  in 
my  little  white  petticoat  and  under-waist,  while 
mother  went  to  the  clothes-press,  to  get  a  dress 
for  me.  You  know  that  big  carved  wardrobe 
that  still  stands  by  grandma's  door  in  the  hall  ? 
the  one  your  grandpa  brought  home  in  one  of 
his  voyages  ?  Well,  it  was  that  very  one. 
Grandma  came  back,  as  Jean  came  in  singing. 
She  looked  so  entirely  unconcerned  that  I  think 
mother  was  surprised. 

"  '  Jean,'  she  said,  coming  in  and  holding  out 
her  hand  to  her,  '  how  could  you  do  such  a 
naughty  thing  as  to  push  your  little  sister  so 
hard  that  she  fell  off  the  box,  and  rolled  down 
the  hill?' 


WHEN   MAMMA   WAS   A   GIRL.  231 

"  I  can  see  your  look  of  surprise  now,  Jean," 
said  mamma,  turning  to  auntie,  "  as  you  stopped 
short  and  said,  '  Pushed  her  off  the  box  ?  why, 
I  did  n't !  she  jumped  off  herself.' 

"  Grandma  looked  from  one  to  the  other  of  us. 

"'What  is  this?'  she  said.  'One  or  the 
other  of  you  is  telling  me  what  is  n't  true.'  I 
shall  never  forget  her  look  of  grieved  surprise. 
It  must  have  been  difficult  for  her  to  decide 
which  was  the  guilty  one,  at  first,  for  I  felt  that 
I  must  stick  to  what  I  had  said.  All  my  anger 
came  back,  and  1  jumped  up  and  down,  scream- 
ing, '  you  pushed  me  off,  Jean  Maxwell !  you 
pushed  me  off.' 

"'Mother,  I  didn't!'  Jean  said.  'Please 
believe  me,  for  you  know  I  wouldn't  do  such  a 
thing.'  Really,  it  would  have  been  much  more 
like  me,  for  I  had  a  quick  temper,  and  I  was 
always  losing  it. 

" '  Margaret,'  said  mother,  taking  hold  of  my 
hands, '  stand  still  and  tell  me  the  exact  truth. 
Did  Jean  push  you  off  the  box,  or  did  you 
jump  ? ' 

" '  Jean  pushed,'  I  began,  but  I  could  not  look 
into  mother's  eyes,  and  tell  her  a  lie  again. 
'  Anyhow,'  I  said,  half-crying,  '  she  wanted  to 
push  me ! ' 


232  CRICKET. 

" '  Tell  me  the  truth,  Margaret,'  mother  said. 
*  Did  Jean  touch  you  at  all  ? ' 

" '  No,'  I  said,  unwillingly. 

" '  Did  she  even  say  she  was  going  to  ? ' 

" '  No ! '  I  cried,  *  for  she  would  not  speak  to 
me.' 

" '  Then  why  did  you  say  that  she  wanted  to 
push  you  off  ?  Did  she  ever  do  such  a  thing  ? ' 

" « No,  never !'  I  admitted,  and  then  I  began  to 
feel  very  much  ashamed  of  myself,  for  my  anger 
never  lasted  long. 

"  Then  mother  said,  '  Very  well,  Jean,  I  quite 
understand  the  matter  now.'  Then  she  sent  her 
away,  and  talked  to  me  for  a  long  time.  She 
questioned  me  closely,  and  learned  that  I  was 
the  only  one  to  blame.  She  made  me  under- 
stand what  a  dreadful  thing  it  was  to  tell  even  a 
little  lie,  and  how  telling  little  ones  would  lead 
to  a  habit,  so  that  one  might  say  what  was  not 
true  in  very  important  matters.  Altogether,  I 
was  very  repentant,  and  promised  never  to  tell 
another  lie  about  anything,  and  I  believe  I  never 
did.  The  soap  and  water  helped  me  remember 
it." 

"  What  was  the  soap  and  water  ? "  asked 
Cricket. 


WHEN    MAMMA   WAS    A    GIRL.  233 

"  Why,  my  mother  said,  when  she  had  finished 
talking  to  me,  that  she  could  n't  kiss  the  little 
mouth  that  had  let  such  a  dreadful  thing  as  a 
lie  come  through  it,  till  it  was  all  clean  again, — 
and  the  only  way  to  clean  it  was  to  wash  it  out. 
So  she  really  did  wash  my  mouth  out  thoroughly 
with  Castile  soap  and  water,  and  all  the  time 
she  made  me  feel  that  it  was  not  so  much  for  a 
punishment,  as  really  to  make  my  mouth  clean 
after  the  lie. 

"  Grandma  seldom  punished  us,  but  somehow 
we  always  felt  the  consequences  of  our  naughty 
deeds.  And  as  I  said,  I  think  I  never  told 
another  story." 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 
MAMMA'S  BANK. 

"How  funny  it  is  to  think  of  your  telling  a 
lie  ! "  exclaimed  Cricket.  "  I  never  heard  about 
that  before.  Tell  us  another  one." 

"  Do  you  remember,  Margaret,"  asked  auntie 
of  mamma,  "  how  we  put  our  money  in  the 
bank?" 

"  Indeed,  I  do,"  laughed  mamma.  "  What 
disappointed  children  we  were ! " 

"What  was  that?"  the  children  asked, 
eagerly. 

"  It  isn't  much  of  a  story,  I  think,  only  it  was 
funny.  I  was  about  six  and  Jean  was  eight, 
were  n't  we  ?  Some  friend  of  my  mother's  came 
to  visit  her  for  a  few  days,  and  brought  her  little 
daughter  with  her.  Do  you  remember  that  little 
Cecilia,  Jean  ?  " 

"  I  should  think  I  did  !  I  remember  her  dis- 
tinctly, although  we  never  saw  her  again.  She 
was  such  a  prim  little  thing,  with  long,  light 
curls — such  cork-screw  curls!  She  wore  a  silk 


MAMMA'S  BANK.  235 

dress,  and  did  n't  like  to  do  anything  but  sit  in 
the  parlour  and  keep  herself  trim." 

"But  we  children  admired  her  immensely," 
said  mamma.  "  We  thought  that  her  name  was 
beautiful  —  Cecilia.  She  said  her  mother  found 
it  in  a  book.  We  loved  to  race  about  and  romp 
as  much  as  you  children  do,  but  she  did  n't  know 
how  to  play  anything.  She  was  a  little  older 
than  we  were,  and  would  tell  us  long  stories 
about  her  home.  One  thing  impressed  us  es- 
pecially. She  asked  us  if  we  had  any  money  in 
the  bank,  and  we  said,  '  None  at  all,'  in  much 
surprise  at  the  question. 

" '  I  have  three  hundred  dollars  in  the  bank,' 
she  said,  proudly,  '  and  my  father 's  going  to 
leave  it  there  till  I'm  twenty-one,  and  put  in 
one  hundred  more  every  year.  It  will  grow  to 
be  a  lot  of  money  when  I  'm  a  young  lady.  Then 
I  'm  going  to  buy  wedding  clothes  with  it.' 

"This  was  entirely  new  talk  to  Jean  and  me. 
We  had  heard  of  banks,  of  course,  but  we  had 
never  really  thought  what  they  were.  Cecilia's 
words  puzzled  us,  for  awhile,  although  we  did 
not  ask  her  any  questions  further  about  it. 

"  The  word  '  bank  '  only  meant  to  us  a  literal 
bank, —  a  sand-bank.  Do  you  remember,  chil- 


236  CRICKET. 

dren,  those  long  sand-banks  back  of  the  shore, 
on  the  other  side  of  grandpa's  orchard  ?  They 
are  just  within  his  fence,  you  know.  Well,  we 
thought  that  Cecilia  surely  meant  just  such  a 
place  as  that.  After  she  was  gone  we  talked 
the  matter  over  very  seriously.  Cecilia's  money 
seemed  like  untold  wealth  to  us,  and  of  course 
we  would  have  nothing  like  that  to  start  with, 
but  we  decided  that  we  would  take  what  we  had 
and  put  it  in  the  bank. 

"We  opened  our  chamois  bags  to  count  our 
money.  We  used  to  put  in  them  any  pennies 
that  remained  of  our  weekly  five  cents,  and  extra 
bits  that  would  come  in  our  way.  Putting  this 
in  the  bank  meant,  to  us,  digging  a  hole  in  the 
sand-bank,  and  burying  the  money  in  it.  Then 
in  some  strange  way,  which  we  didn't  at  all  un- 
derstand, the  money  would  '  grow,'  as  Cecilia 
said,  and  by-and-by  we  would  have  a  great  deal 
more.  I  think  we  thought  of  it's  growing  as 
the  roots  of  a  tree  grow.  Do  you  remember, 
Jean,  how  grand  we  felt,  emptying  our  chamois- 
skin  bags,  and  counting  our  pennies  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  yes,"  said  auntie.  "  It  was  getting 
near  the  County  Fair  time,  to  which  we  were 
always  taken,  and  for. which  we  had  been  saving 


MAMMA'S  BANK.  237 

our  pennies  eagerly.  There  seemed  such  a  lot 
of  them." 

"  How  many  and  shining  they  looked  ! "  went 
on  mamma.  "  We  took  our  bags,  one  day,  and 
a  little  shovel,  and  started  out.  We  did  not 
tell  grandma,  because  we  thought  that  we  would 
like  to  surprise  her  some  day  with  a  big  pile  of 
gold  dollars,  which,  for  some  reason,  we  had 
made  up  our  minds  would  be  our  crop.  How 
earnest  and  sincere  we  were ! " 

"  We  certainly  were,"  said  auntie,  smiling. 
"  I  wish  I  could  remember  just  how  I  thought 
that  the  money  would  «  grow '  in  the  bank,  but  I 
am  not  sure  whether  I  thought  it  would  spring 
up  like  a  plant,  and  we  would  pick  the  dollars, 
or  whether  we  thought  it  would  just  spread  in 
the  ground.  Mother  often  used  to  say  to  us, 
when  we  wanted  something  that  was  very  ab- 
surd, '  I  '11  buy  it  for  you  when  I  can  pick  gold 
dollars  off  the  rosebush.'  Perhaps  that  gave  us 
the  idea." 

Then  mamma  took  up  the  story  again. 

"  We  travelled  off  with  our  money-bags,  and 
when  we  got  to  the  sand-banks,  we  selected  a 
nice,  smooth  place,  and  dug  a  deep  hole.  Then 
we  laid  our  chamois-skin  bags  carefully  in.  Oh, 


238  CEICKET. 

I  believe  we  wrapped  them  in  newspaper  first, 
did  n't  we  ?  We  covered  them  all  up  evenly, 
and  stuck  two  sticks  down  to  mark  the  place, 
and  then,  feeling  very  rich,  we  trotted  home. 

"  For  a  week  after  this  we  made  a  trip  down 
there  every  day,  in  great  excitement,  and  every 
day  we  came  slowly  back,  much  disappointed 
that  there  were  no  signs  of  growth.  Once  we 
dug  down  and  uncovered  our  bags,  to  see  if  they 
had  struck  roots  yet,  but  we  were  much  dis- 
couraged to  find  them  only  mouldy  and  damp, 
but  still  whole.  Not  a  root  had  struck  out. 

"  Then  Jean  suddenly  remembered  that  Cecilia 
had  said  that  when  she  grew  to  be  a  lady  that 
there  would  be  a  lot  of  money,  so  perhaps  we 
would  have  to  wait  just  as  long,  and  let  our  bags 
lie  there  till  then.  This  thought  was  a  greater 
disappointment,  for  we  had  expected  to  surprise 
the  family  with  our  crop  of  gold  dollars  when 
your  grandfather  came  home  from  his  next 
voyage. 

"  By-and-by,  of  course,  other  things  came  up, 
and  the  bank  was  rather  forgotten,  till  one  day 
grandma  said  that  the  County  Fair  was  to  be 
held  in  a  few  days,  and  we  would  go,  as  usual. 
Then  we  looked  at  each  other  in  dismay,  for  we 


MAMMAS    BANK.  239 

had  buried  all  our  money.  We  had  expected  at 
first,  you  know,  to  reap  our  crop  long  before  this 
important  day,  and  here  we  were  with  a  very 
small  number  of  pennies,  and  no  sign  of  any 
money  sprouting  yet. 

"  Grandma  noticed  our  dismayed  faces  and  at 
once  asked  us  what  was  the  matter ;  so  we  told 
her  the  whole  story.  How  she  laughed!  but 
she  explained  to  us  very  carefully  what  a  bank 
really  is,  and  how  money  does  *  grow '  or  in- 
crease in  a  savings  bank.  Then  she  told  us  to 
run  down  and  dig  up  our  bags  before  they  were 
entirely  spoiled." 

"  Did  you  get  them  ?  "  asked  Cricket,  eagerly. 

"  That  is  the  sad  part  of  my  story,  dear.  Two 
very  downcast  children,  we  went  down  to  the 
sand-bank,  and  what  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  Had  it  all  been  taken  away  ?  "  asked  the 
children,  breathlessly. 

"  No,  but  it  might  as  well  have  been,  for  do 
you  know,  we  could  n't  find  it.  Heavy  rains  had 
come,  and  had  washed  away  our  sticks.  We 
ran  up  and  down  the  sand-bank,  which  extends 
a  long  distance,  you  know,  but  we  could  not  find 
the  spot  anywhere.  We  dug  here  and  there, 
for  we  could  not  believe  that  we  would  not  find 


240  CKICKET. 

our  money,  but  all  in  vain.  At  last  we  came, 
crying,  back  to  grandma,  and  she  comforted  us,  as 
usual.  She  told  us  that  little  girls  usually  got 
into  trouble  when  they  did  things  without  asking 
their  mammas,  but  that  next  time  we  would 
both  be  wiser,  and  ask  her  advice  first.  Then 
she  asked  us  how  much  money  we  had  buried, 
and  two  days  after,  on  the  very  morning  when 
we  were  to  start  for  the  Fair,  we  found  by  our 
pillows,  when  we  woke  up,  two  pretty,  new 
chamois-skin  bags,  with  the  same  amount  of 
money,  all  in  bright  new  nickels,  which  grandma 
had  taken  the  trouble  to  get  for  us. 

"  For  months  afterwards,  we  used  to  go  down 
at  intervals,  and  dig  for  those  bags,  till  I  think 
we  must  have  pretty  nearly  spaded  up  the  entire 
bank.  But,  at  any  rate,  we  did  not  strike  just 
the  right  spot,  and  we  never  saw  those  bags 
again." 

"Are  they  there  now,"  demanded  Cricket,  sit- 
ting up  suddenly. 

"  For  all  I  know.  Much  of  the  sand-bank  on 
the  other  side  has  been  carted  away  for  building 
purposes,  but  this  side,  I  believe,  has  never  been 
disturbed." 

"  Won't  I  dig  for  it,  next  time  I  go  to  grand- 


MAMMA'S  BANK.  241 

ma's ! "  cried  Cricket.  "  How  much  was  there 
in  them  ?  " 

"  I  think  about  three  dollars  altogether, 
was  n't  there,  Jean  ?  What  heart-broken  chil- 
dren we  were,  were  n't  we,  when  we  first  realized 
that  we  could  n't  find  the  place  !  " 

"  Indeed  we  were.  That  was  my  first  and  last 
speculation,"  laughed  auntie. 

"  Is  n't  it  funny,"  said  Cricket  to  Eunice,  "  to 
think  that  mamma  and  auntie  were  ever  such 
little  geese ! " 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

GOING   BACK   TO    TOWN. 

LEAVING  dear  old  Kayuna  and  going  back  to 
town  was  always  a  time  of  mourning  with  the 
Ward  family.  They  had  occasionally  lived  out 
there  through  the  whole  year,  but  it  was  not 
very  convenient  for  the  grown-up  members  of 
the  family,  and  there  were  no  good  schools  for 
the  older  ones. 

The  first  of  October  was  the  usual  time  for 
the  flitting.  For  a  week  before  there  was  a 
great  flying  around  among  the  small  fry,  who 
had  to  put  away  any  of  their  own  possessions 
which  were  not  taken  with  them  into  town,  for 
mamma  insisted  on  their  being  left  in  perfect 
order.  All  other  things  must  be  collected  in 
the  nursery  to  be  packed. 

These  things  were  always  getting  hopelessly 
mixed  up,  and  some  treasured  article  was  al- 
ways being  rescued  from  the  packed-away  things. 
Cricket  and  Eunice  had  a  small  trunk  which 
they  were  allowed  to  pack  all  by  themselves, 


GOING   BACK   TO   TOWN.  243 

with  their  own  books  and  treasures,  and  I 
should  be  afraid  to  mention  the  number  of  times 
that  this  trunk  was  packed  and  unpacked. 

Then  there  were  all  the  animals  on  the  place 
to  see  for  a  final  good-by.  Dear  little  Mopsie 
and  Charcoal  had  to  have  extra  feeds  of  apples 
and  sugar,  to  make  up  for  the  long  time 
before  they  would  see  their  little  mistresses 
again.  Mike  had  to  be  charged,  over  and  over, 
not  to  neglect  to  give  them  enough  exercise, 
and  always  to  let  the  dogs  go,  too.  Grinning 
Mike  finally  said  that  he  believed  "  Miss  Scriket 
thought  he  did  n't  know  a  horse  whin  he  met 
wan  in  the  road,"  since  she  gave  him  so  many 
instructions. 

Then  the  children  must  race  down  to  the 
barns,  at  the  farm-house,  and  take  a  last  jump  on 
the  heaps  of  soft,  dry  hay.  They  must  find 
some  eggs  to  take  to  the  store  for  a  final  ex- 
change for  candy.  They  must  visit  all  their 
favourite  haunts  by  the  dear  little  brook,  and  say 
good-by  to  the  dear  old  woods,  now  gay  in  their 
fall  dress  of  scarlet  and  gold. 

Hilda  had  already  begun  school,  and  could  be 
with  them  very  little  now,  but  she  was  broken- 
hearted, as  usual,  at  the  thought  of  losing  her 


244  CRICKET. 

little  playfellow.  She  and  Edith  Craig  spent 
all  their  spare  minutes  with  the  girls,  and 
planned  eagerly  for  the  coming  year.  Mamma 
had  last  year  invited  both  Hilda  and  Edith  to 
spend  the  Christmas  holidays  in  town  with  her 
little  daughters,  and  you  can  imagine  what  fine 
times  they  had  there,  although  it  proved  very 
different  from  being  together  in  the  country. 
Sometime  I  may  tell  you  about  one  of  these 
visits  to  town. 

At  last  everything  was  ready  for  the  depart- 
ure. The  furniture  was  all  done  up  in  linen 
covers,  and  mattings  and  rugs  were  taken  up 
and  put  away.  The  children  would  race  up  and 
down  the  great  echoing  halls  and  rooms  in  high 
glee,  enjoying  the  commotion  of  the  last  day. 
Mamma  was  not  strong  enough  to  bear  all  this 
confusion,  and  she  went  back  in  town  a  few 
days  earlier,  to  see  that  everything  was  ready 
and  comfortable  in  their  town  house.  The  ser- 
vant whom  they  left  there  through  the  summer 
had  the  house  open  and  in  order,  so  mamma  and 
Kenneth,  whom  she  took  with  her,  had  a  few 
days  of  rest  and  quiet  all  by  themselves. 

The  house  at  Kayuna  was  shut  up  through 
the  winter,  though  the  farmer's  wife  came  up 


GOING   BACK   TO   TOWN.  245 

once  a  week  to  go  over  it  and  see  that  every- 
thing was  all  right. 

At  last  came  the  day  of  departure.  Since 
the  village  was  within  easy  driving  distance  of 
the  city  —  twelve  miles  —  Mike  always  loaded 
up  the  trunks  on  a  big  cart,  and  drove  them  all 
in  town,  himself,  while  the  family  went  in  by 
train.  This  year  there  was  a  little  change  in 
their  going. 

'Gustus  John,  who  often  drove  to  town,  found 
that  it  was  necessary  for  him  to  go  that  very 
day,  and  'Manda  wanted  to  go  also,  for  her  fall 
shopping.  In  view  of  this, — though  he  had 
much  difficulty  in  getting  his  courage  up  to  ask 
such  a  favour,  —  he  begged  Dr.  Ward  that  he 
might  have  the  "  pleasure  and  honour  "  of  driving 
Miss  Eunice  and  Miss  Cricket  in  town  with 
them. 

The  doctor  hesitated,  but  Cricket  and  Eunice, 
hearing  of  the  plan,  begged  so  hard  for  permis- 
sion that  their  father  finally  consented. 

The  start  had  to  be  an  early  one,  in  order 
that  the  farmer  and  his  wife  should  get  in  town 
to  do  their  errands,  for  they  had  to  be  at  home 
by  five  o'clock.  So  eight  o'clock  on  Wednesday 
morning  saw  the  wagon  drive  in  at  the  gates  of 


246  CRICKET. 

Kayuna.  'Gustus  John  in  his  big  overcoat,— 
for  the  morning  was  chilly,  —  and  in  his  new 
stiff  Derby  hat,  looked  a  very  different  figure 
from  the  'Gustus  John  of  every  day,  in  his  blue 
overalls  and  blouse.  'Manda  rejoiced  in  a  new 
fall  bonnet,  trimmed  with  red  and  blue  feathers, 
and  was  wrapped  up  in  a  gay  plaid  shawl.  She 
sat  in  front  with  her  husband,  and  left  the 
roomy  back  seat  to  the  children. 

They  were  all  ready,  and  came  out  smiling 
and  in  good  spirits.  It  was  really  much  easier 
parting  from  dear  old  Kayuna,  since  the  pleas- 
ure of  this  long  drive  was  in  prospect.  Mike 
brought  Mopsie  and  Charcoal  around  to  see  the 
start,  he  said,  —  though  I  think  it  was  really  an 
excuse  to  be  there  himself,  —  and  the  girls 
must  stop  for  another  hug  for  them,  and 
kisses  on  their  cold  little  noses. 

The  big  farm-horses,  carefully  groomed  and 
shining,  held  up  their  heads,  and  said,  as  plainly 
as  could  be,  that  they  were  delighted  to  get  off 
from  the  farm-work  for  one  day,  as  they  stood, 
stamping  the  ground,  impatient  to  be  off. 

Manda  had  some  extra  shawls  with  which  she 
insisted  on  wrapping  up  Cricket  and  Eunice, 
for  this  October  morning  was  crisp  and  cool. 


GOING   BACK   TO   TOWN.  247 

The  children  felt  like  little  mummies,  but  they 
were  glad  of  the  extra  warmth.  Eliza  charged 
'Manda  to  take  off  the  shawls  before  they 
reached  town,  so  "  they  might  look  like  some- 
thing, when  they  got  there." 

Then  'Gustus  John  gathered  up  the  reins, 
and  the  horses,  tossing  their  fine  heads, 
wheeled  around,  and  went  down  the  avenue  at  a 
brisk  trot,  while  Eunice  and  Cricket  waved 
good-by  to  dear  old  Kayuna,  and  threw  kisses 
to  Mopsie  and  Charcoal. 

Gayly  the  horses  trotted  along  the  hard  coun- 
try roads,  glad  of  a  chance  to  show  their  spirits 
and  their  speed.  Merrily  the  girls'  tongues 
wagged,  and  'Gustus  John  and  'Manda  on  the 
front  seat  exchanged  delighted  glances.  They 
were  such  a  good-natured  couple  that  the  chil- 
dren always  wondered  how  they  happened  to 
have  such  a  spoiled  child  as  Mamie.  Really 
'Manda  was  too  good-natured  and  easy  with  her. 
She  never  could  bear  to  correct  or  punish  her  in 
any  way,  and  since  Mamie  was  not  very  good  to 
begin  with,  the  result  was  a  bad  one,  as  we 
know.  Too  much  of  our  own  way  is  not  good 
for  any  of  us. 

An  hour  of  this  brisk  pace  brought  them  to 


248  CRICKET. 

a  roadside  hotel,  where  the  horses  were  watered 
at  a  great  trough  by  the  side  of  the  road.  It 
was  pretty  to  watch  the  thirsty  creatures,  as 
they  plunged  their  noses  deep  in  the  clear,  run- 
ning water,  and  then  drank  eagerly.  Then 
'Gustus  John  checked  them  up  again,  climbed 
into  the  light  wagon,  and  then,  gathering  up  the 
reins,  he  cracked  his  whip  and  they  were  off 
once  more. 

Just  after  that  they  had  an  accident  that 
might  easily  have  been  a  serious  one.  The 
back  seat  of  the  wagon  could  be  taken  out,  so 
that  'Gustus  John  could  use  the  space  behind 
for  packing  jars  of  butter,  and  baskets  of  eggs, 
when  he  went  to  town  with  "small  truck,"  as 
he  called  it.  When  the  seat  was  put  back,  two 
little  iron  pieces  on  the  bottom  slipped  into  two 
little  sockets  and  held  it  fast.  Even  without 
this,  the  seat  would  rest  pretty  securely  on  the 
frame-work. 

Now,  while  'Gustus  John  had  been  harnessing 
that  morning,  he  had  just  lifted  the  seat  from 
the  barn  floor,  to  put  it  in  place, — for  the  last 
time  he  had  used  this  wagon  the  seat  had  been 
taken  out/ — when  he  was  called  away.  He 
rested  it  in  its  place  on  the  body  of  the  wagon ; 


GOING   BACK   TO   TOWN.  249 

then,  without  stopping  at  the  moment,  to  notice 
if  it  was  secure,  went  to  see  what  was  wanted. 
When  he  came  back  the  seat  looked  all  right, 
and  he  entirely  forgot  that  he  had  not  yet 
slipped  the  little  irons  into  the  sockets.  It 
would  have  been  safe  enough,  in  this  way,  over 
smooth,  level  roads,  but  a  jar,  or  a  steep  ascent, 
would  have  been  enough  to  throw  it  off  the 
body  of  the  wagon. 

After  they  left  the  watering- trough,  the  road 
wound  up  a  steep  hill,  a  very  steep  one. 
Eunice  leaned  forward  and  took  hold  of  the 
back  of  the  front  seat. 

"  Seems  to  me,  Cricket,"  she  said,  "  this  seat 
rather  wiggles.  Hope  it  won't  slip  off." 

"Nonsense!  I  don't  feel  it,"  said  Cricket. 
"  'Gustus  John  always  fastens  it  in  tight. 
I've  seen  him  lots  of  times,"  and  by  way  of 
showing  her  confidence  in  'Gustus  John's  care, 
she  leaned  back  with  a  little  unnecessary  force. 
The  horses  at  that  moment  came  to  what  is 
called,  in  the  country,  a  "  thank  you  marm," 
which  is  a  sort  of  mound  across  the  road  to  act 
as  a  water-shed.  The  wagon  gave  a  jerk  as  it 
passed  over.  This  was  too  much  for  the  seat, 
which  had  slipped  a  little  as  they  climbed  the 


250  CRICKET. 

hill,  and  off  it  went  behind,  bringing  the  two 
little  girls  with  it,  down  into  the  middle  of  the 
road.  At  the  same  instant  the  horses  sprang 
forward  at  a  renewed  trot,  as  they  swept  around 
a  curve  to  a  more  level  piece  of  road,  and  they 
were  out  of  sight  in  a  moment. 

Cricket  and  Eunice,  breathless  with  their  sud- 
den descent,  sat  on  the  seat,  staring  after  their 
chariot  in  great  bewilderment.  They  had  gone 
over  so  suddenly,  that  neither  of  them  had 
screamed,  and  'Gustus  John  and  'Manda,  talking 
busily  over  their  errands  in  town,  did  not  know 
that  they  had  lost  their  passengers.  Suddenly 
'Manda,  hearing  a  faint  cry  in  the  distance, 
turned  around  to  see  if  the  children  heard  it. 
There  was  nothing  but  emptiness  behind. 

"Lawful  suz,"  she  cried,  catching  at  the 
reins.  "  Ef  we  hain't  ben  and  gone  and  lost 
them  children !  Turn  round,  'Gustus  John ! 
turn  round,  I  say  ! " 

'Gustus  John's  slower  brain  could  only  take 
in  one  fact. 

"  Let  go  the  lines,  'Mandy,"  he  said,  sharply, 
as  one  of  the  horses  reared  at  the  sudden  twitch 
of  the  reins.  "  Hain't  I  told  yer  more  'n  five 
hundred  times  not  to  do  that  on  no  account  ? " 


GOING   BACK   TO   TOWN.  251 

"The  children,  'Gustus  John!"  gasped 
'Manda,  rising  in  her  place,  and  looking  back. 
"We've  lost  the  children!  where  can  they 
be?" 

"  Lost  'em  out?"  'Gustus  John  pulled  up  so 
suddenly  that  the  horses  fell  back  on  their 
haunches.  "  My  Gummy ! "  He  whirled  the 
horses  around,  and  drove  back.  As  they  came 
to  the  curve,  they  saw  Eunice  and  Cricket  in 
the  road,  trying  to  get  out  of  the  heavy  shawls, 
which  wrapped  them  like  mummies. 

"  Well,  I  declare  for  it !  Are  you  hurt, 
children?"  'Manda  called,  eagerly. 

Both  little  girls  came  up  laughing. 

"No,  not  a  bit,"  they  declared.  They  had 
not  struck  their  backs  at  all,  only  slipped  right 
out,  seat  and  all,  and  the  thick  shawls  had  pro- 
tected them.  'Gustus  John  was  ready  to  sink 
into  the  ground  with  mortification. 

"  I  swan !  I  never  did  forget  that  'ere  seat 
f astenin'  before.  To  think  I  've  been  and  done 
it  this  mornin'  of  all  mornin's.  I  'm  ashamed 
to  look  your  pa  in  the  face  ever  agin,  when  I  've 
pretty  nigh  killed  ye  both." 

"  Why,  we  're  not  hurt  the  least  bit,"  Cricket 
assured  him,  eagerly,  as  he  fixed  the  seat  firmly 


252  CRICKET. 

in  its  place  again.  "  It  was  lots  of  fun  going 
over.  It  slipped  off  just  as  easy  !  " 

'Manda  felt  the  children  all  over  very  care- 
fully, to  make  sure  that  no  bones  were  broken, 
she  said,  though,  seeing  how  lively  the  children 
were,  there  was  little  fear  of  that. 

"  That  seat 's  ez  tight  as  a  drum,  now,"  said 
'Gustus  John,  finally,  preparing  to  lift  the  girls 
in. 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  said  'Manda ;  "  I  must 
tidy  them  up  a  bit,  now.  Look  at  Cricket's 
hat,"  and  she  straightened  the  crooked  hat, 
patted  down  the  flying  locks,  and  pulled  their 
dresses  around.  "  Ain't  it  warm  enough  to  take 
off  them  shawls,  now  ?  There  you  be  !  "  with  a 
final  pat  to  each. 

Then  they  mounted  again  and  settled  in  their 
places,  while  the  horses,  wondering  at  all  this 
delay,  started  off  again  at  a  swinging  pace,  which 
took  them  over  the  ground  so  fast  that  it  was 
not  long  before  they  crossed  the  long  bridge, 
and  were  fairly  in  town. 

It  was  only  a  little  after  ten,  when  they 
turned  into  the  home-street,  and  drew  up  before 
the  familiar  house.  Mamma,  seeing  their 
arrival  from  an  upper  window,  came  hurrying 


GOING   BACK   TO   TOWN.  253 

down  to  meet  them,  as  glad  to  see  her  little 
daughters  as  if  they  had  been  separated  a  year, 
instead  of  a  few  days. 

Then  after  mamma  had  warmly  thanked 
'Gustus  John  and  'Manda  for  bringing  such 
rosy-faced  little  maids  home,  Eunice  and  Cricket 
said  good-by  to  them  also,  and  ran  in  to  the 
house,  feeling  now  that  the  lovely  summer  at 
Kayuna  was  fairly  over. 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 
CRICKET'S  SHORT  MEMORY. 

THE  household  settled  into  their  town-life 
very  quickly,  and  in  three  days'  time  they  al- 
most felt  as  if  their  lovely  summer  had  been  a 
dream.  Only  the  children's  sunburned  faces 
and  hands,  and  their  overflowing  health  and 
spirits,  remained  as  proof  positive  that  they  had 
not  been  in  town  all  summer. 

"How  strange  it  is  that  Marion  Blair  does 
not  call  for  me,"  said  Marjorie,  one  day,  turning 
away  from  the  window,  where  she  had  been 
standing  in  hat  and  coat,  for  half  an  hour. 
"  She  said  she  would  be  here  at  three,  and  it  is 
nearly  four  now.  I'm  afraid  we'll  lose  the 
crysanthemum  show  altogether." 

"Oh,  Marjorie!"  cried  Cricket,  penitently. 
"  I  'm  so  sorry.  I  met  Daisy  Blair  on  the  street 
this  morning,  and  she  asked  me  to  give  you  this 
note  from  Marion." 

Marjorie  read  the  note  hastily. 

"  You  provoking  child  !     She  writes  that  she 


CRICKET  S    SHORT    MEMORY.  255 

has  a  severe  cold  and  can't  go  out  to-day,  but 
wants  me  to  call  for  Sallie  Evarts,  and  go  with 
her,  and  Sallie  would  wait  for  me  till  three. 
Sallie  was  going  with  us.  Now,  it 's  too  late  to 
go  way  up  there,  and  you  've  lost  us  the  flower- 
show  —  both  of  us,  for  I  'm  sure  Sallie  would  n't 
go  off  alone  —  and  it 's  the  last  day." 

"  Oh,  Marjorie  dear,  I  am  so  sorry,"  Cricket 
said,  looking  crushed,  as  she  always  did,  when 
her  f orgetfulness  was  in  question.  "  I  'm  awfully 
sorry." 

"  You  always  are  awfully  sorry,"  returned 
Marjorie,  impatiently,  "  but  that  does  not  excuse 
your  abominable  forgetfulness."  Marjorie  used 
strong  language,  but  really  Cricket's  constant 
slips  of  memory  were  maddening. 

Both  her  mother  and  father  felt  very  badly 
over  this  fault  of  Cricket's,  knowing  it  might 
any  day  bring  serious  consequences.  They  had 
tried  every  possible  means  to  help  her  overcome 
it,  but  thus  far  nothing  had  ever  done  any  special 
good.  She  would  remember  better  for  a  time, 
and  then  forget  more  than  ever.  One  reason 
for  her  forgetfulness  was  an  odd  one.  With  all 
her  high  spirits  and  her  love  of  active,  out-door 
sports,  Cricket  was  also  greatly  given  to  day- 


256  CRICKET. 

dreams.  She  had  a  strong  imagination,  and 
was  devoted  to  her  books,  for  she  liked  to  read 
quite  as  much  as  she  loved  to  run  and  play. 
When  she  was  by  herself,  she  was  always 
dreaming  out  strange  fancies,  making  jingles 
which  she  called  poetry,  or  telling  stories  to 
herself  about  all  sorts  of  things.  When  she 
was  given  an  errand  to  do  she  would  always  set 
off  willingly  enough,  and  in  a  moment  would 
be  entirely  absorbed  in  her  own  fancies  as  she 
walked  along  the  street.  She  would  perhaps  go 
past  the  house  to  which  she  had  been  sent,  for 
an  entire  block,  then,  suddenly  recollecting  her- 
self, would  turn  quickly  and  go  as  far  in  the 
other  direction.  Marjorie  said  that  one  day, 
when  she  was  calling  at  a  certain  house,  she 
saw  Cricket  pass  a  house  opposite  four  times 
before  she  remembered  to  go  in  when  she  came 
to  the  door. 

She  had  frequently  been  known  to  pass  her 
own  home,  if  she  chanced  to  come  alone  from 
school,  and  walk  on  for  a  couple  of  blocks.  A 
letter  intrusted  to  her  might  reach  its  desti- 
nation any  time  within  six  months,  if  it  went 
into  her  pocket.  She  never  by  any  chance 
remembered  a  message.  She  even  forgot,  often- 


CRICKET'S  SHORT  MEMORY.        257 

times,  whether  she  had  eaten  her  lunch  or  not. 
Indeed,  the  only  thing  she  never  mislaid  were 
her  school-books,  and  the  sole  things  she  never 
forgot  were  her  lessons.  Her  memory  for  his- 
tory, even  for  long  strings  of  dates,  was  really 
unusual.  She  could  commit  pages  of  poetry, 
and  Latin  declensions,  and  conjugations  rolled 
easily  off  her  glib  little  tongue. 

Since  this  was  the  case,  I  am  sadly  afraid 
that  Cricket's  slips  of  memory  were  simply 
from  lack  of  attention  to  what  people  told  her 
to  do.  Her  mind  was  always  too  full  of  plans 
and  fancies  of  her  own  to  notice  carefully  what 
they  said.  Consequently,  things  of  that  sort 
being  laid  on  the  top  of  her  mind,  constantly 
rolled  off  and  were  lost. 

So  long  as  Cricket  was  only  a  little  girl,  her 
fault  was  annoying  but  not  serious.  Now,  as 
she  grew  older,  and  might  have  important 
messages  and  errands  intrusted  to  her  by  people 
who  did  not  know  her  failing,  you  may  be  sure 
mamma  was  in  constant  terror. 

After  Cricket's  forgetfuluess  in  delivering  the 
note  had  lost  Marjorie  and  her  friend  the 
flower-show,  mamma  had  a  long  and  very 
serious  talk  with  her  little  daughter.  She 


258  CRICKET. 

reminded  her  how  often  she  had  talked  to  her 
on  the  same  subject  before,  and  how  each  time 
Cricket  had  promised  to  do  better ;  how  useless 
it  was  for  her  to  say  how  sorry  she  was,  and 
then  forget  the  next  day  just  the  same. 

"  Well,  you  see,"  Cricket  said,  candidly,  "  I 
say  'I'll  never  forget  again,'  and  then  prob'ly 
the  next  day  I  go  and  do  it.  And  then,  nat- 
urally, I  get  discouraged.  Ever  is  such  a  long 
time." 

"  Well,  little  daughter,"  suggested  mamma, 
"suppose  you  try  this  way.  Don't  say  that 
you  '11  never  forget  again,  but  only  '  I  will  try 
not  to  forget  a  thing  I  'm  told  to  do  to-day]  and 
the  next  day  say  the  same  thing.  You  don't 
know  how  quickly  the  habit  of  remembering 
would  be  formed,  for  I  really  think  that  your 
constant  forgetfulness  is  largely  a  habit." 

"  I  might  try  that,"  said  Cricket,  thoughtfully. 
"  Could  n't  I  take  a  day  off,  sometimes  ? "  she 
added,  quickly. 

Mamma  laughed 

"  There  is  no  such  thing  as  '  taking  a  day  off,' 
when  we  are  trying  to  do  better,  pet.  Do  you 
know,  overcoming  a  bad  habit  is  like  rolling  up 
a  ball  of  string.  If  you  drop  it,  you  have  just 


CRICKET'S  SHORT  MEMORY.         259 

so  much  to  do  over.  So  if  you  take  even  one 
day  off— " 

"  I  see,"  interrupted  Cricket,  with  a  sigh. 
"  I  've  just  got  to  keep  winding.  But,  truly,  I  '11 
try  this  time  not  to  drop  my  ball.  I  really  do 
suppose,"  she  added,  thoughtfully,  after  a  mo- 
ment, "  that  I  could  remember  better,  if  I  did  n't 
tell  stories  to  myself  all  the  time  I  'm  walking, 
but  it's  such  fun.  I  get  so  interested  that  I 
don't  know  anything." 

"  Then  the  stories  should  go,  little  daughter," 
said  mamma,  "  if  they  hinder  you  remembering. 
Now  try  it  for  one  day  at  a  time.  '  Take  short 
views,'  as  Sydney  Smith  says." 

"  I  '11  truly  try,"  repeated  Cricket,  with  so 
serious  a  face  that  mamma  felt  greatly  en- 
couraged. 

Really,  for  a  week  Cricket's  improvement  was 
marvellous.  She  resolutely  put  her  beloved 
stories  and  day-dreams  out  of  her  mind,  if  she 
was  told  to  do  anything,  until  she  had  done 
it,  and  she  began  to  realize  that  it  had  been 
largely  a  lack  of  attention  that  made  her  forget 
messages  so. 

"  I  have  n't  dropped  my  ball  once  this  week," 
Cricket  confided  in  triumph  to  mamma,  at  the 


260  CRICKET. 

end  of  that  time,  as  she  kissed  her  good-night. 
Eunice  had  gone  to  bed  early  with  a  bad  head- 
ache. "Really,  do  you  know,  remembering 
is  n't  such  hard  work,  if  you  only  make  up  your 
mind  that  you  will." 

Mamma  smiled.  "  I  am  glad  you  find  it  so. 
Good-night,  love.  By-the-by,  stop  at  the  library 
door,  as  you  go  upstairs,  and  tell  papa  that  Mr. 
Evans  has  just  sent  word  that  he  will  be  in  about 
nine,  on  some  important  business." 

"  Yes,  mamma,"  said  Cricket,  stopping  on  her 
way  out  to  play  with  Duster.  Then  she  went 
out  of  the  room  and  upstairs.  At  her  room  door 
she  remembered  her  message. 

"  Just  in  time,"  she  thought.  "  Most  dropped 
it  that  time ! "  and  she  ran  down  again  to  the 
library. 

Mamma  sat  listening  to  see  if  she  delivered 
the  message.  Hearing  her  run  down  stairs 
again,  she  smiled,  satisfied. 

"  Oh,  papa,"  Cricket  began,  when  her  atten- 
tion was  attracted  by  a  beautifully  illustrated, 
new  volume,  which  papa  was  unwrapping. 
"  Is  n't  that  beautiful ! "  she  exclaimed,  in  de- 
light. She  hung  over  papa's  shoulder,  as  he 
turned  the  pages  and  explained  some  of  the 
lovely  pictures. 


CRICKET'S  SHORT  MEMORY.        261 

Suddenly  he  pulled  out  his  watch  and  stood 
up  in  thought  for  a  moment. 

"  May  I  see  this  more  ?  "  begged  Cricket. 

•'  Yes,  you  may  take  it  for  a  few  minutes," 
said  papa.  "  Be  sure  you  put  it  back  on  my 
table  when  you  are  through  with  it.  I  must 
step  over  to  Brewster's  for  a  minute ; "  and  papa 
took  up  some  papers  and  left  the  room. 

Cricket  did  not  heed  him.  She  threw  herself 
on  the  white  goat-skin  before  the  open  fire,  and, 
with  her  chin  in  her  hand,  she  turned  the  leaves 
of  the  lovely  volume  in  absorbed  interest.  Papa 
went  out,  and  she  did  not  even  hear  the  door 
close.  Mamma  did,  though,  and  stepped  to  the 
door  of  the  parlour.  The  light  still  streamed 
from  the  library,  and  she  went  back,  supposing 
papa  was  still  there. 

An  hour  passed.  About  nine  the  bell  rang 
violently ;  Cricket  did  not  hear  it.  A  few 
minutes  after,  mamma's  repeated  "  Cricket " 
brought  her  to  her  feet. 

"  Where  is  your  father  ?  "  Mrs.  Ward  was  say- 
ing. "  Did  n't  you  give  him  my  message  ?" 

"What  message?"  faltered  Cricket,  looking 
bewildered. 

"  Did  n't  you  tell  him  that  Mr.  Evans  would 
call?  Why,  Cricket!" 


262  CEICKET. 

"  Oh,  mamma,  what  shall  I  do  ?  I  forgot  all 
about  it." 

Mr.  Evans  looked  extremely  annoyed.  He 
was  an  irritable  man,  with  small  patience  for 
any  one's  short-comings.  Now,  he  certainly  had 
good  reason  to  be  vexed.  His  business  was  im- 
portant, and  he  had  to  catch  a  late  train  for 
New  York,  and  had  but  little  time  to  spare. 

"  Well,  well,  then,"  he  said,  shortly,  "  perhaps 
you  can  tell  me  where  he  is  gone,  if  you  did  for- 
get the  message  ?  " 

Cricket  grew  frightened.  "  I  think  —  I  can't 
just  remember,"  she  faltered. 

"  Have  n't  you  any  idea  ?  "  asked  mamma. 
"  He  must  have  mentioned  some  place  when  he 
was  going ; "  for  it  was  papa's  rule  always  to 
leave  word  when  he  went  out. 

"  It  seems  to  me  —  yes,  I  know,"  cried  Cricket, 
brightening  up.  "  He  said  he  was  going  to  the 
Bruces,"  with  a  faint  echo  of  the  name  that 
papa  had  spoken  lingering  in  her  ear.  Unfor- 
tunately, the  Bruces  lived  at  the  other  end  of 
town,  and  the  Brewsters  in  the  next  square. 

"  I  shall  have  to  risk  finding  him  there,  then," 
said  Mr.  Evans,  looking  at  his  watch.  "  No  !  I 
have  not  time.  Really  this  is  a  most  unfortu- 


CRICKET'S  SHORT  MEMORY.        263 

nate  matter,"  and  Mr.  Evans  put  back  his 
watch,  looking  like  a  thunder-cloud.  Having 
taken  the  precaution  to  notify  Dr.  Ward  that  it 
was  necessary  to  see  him  that  night  on  impor- 
tant business,  it  was  certainly  more  than  vexa- 
tious to  find  him  out.  Mrs.  Ward  was  greatly 
distressed. 

"  I  will  send  Donald  instantly  to  the  .Bruces," 
she  said.  "  Perhaps  then  my  husband  can  catch 
you  at  the  station  before  you  leave,  if  he  has  not 
time  to  go  to  your  house."  And  with  this  Mr. 
Evans  departed. 

Mamma  dragged  Donald  from  his  studies,  and 
sent  him  post-haste  across  the  city.  Then  she 
came  back  to  Cricket. 

"  We  won't  talk  about  this  till  after  I  have 
seen  papa !  "  she  said,  gravely,  and  miserable 
Cricket  went  slowly  off  to  bed. 

Forlornly,  she  mounted  the  stairs.  No  thought 
of  the  new  volume  she  had  left  on  the  rug  came 
to  her  mind.  Usually,  it  would  have  been  safe 
enough,  but  to-night  it  chanced  that  Duster  was 
in  an  unusually  playful  mood.  All  the  older 
ones  but  mamma  being  out,  and  the  younger 
ones  in  bed,  Duster  felt  lonely,  and  wanted  to 
play.  He  strolled  into  the  library  in  search  of 


264  CRICKET. 

amusement.  The  firelight  played  on  the  stand- 
ing pages  of  the  costly  volume,  open  on  the 
hearth-rug.  Duster  darted  forward.  With 
teeth  and  claws  he  worried  the  charming  play- 
thing, pitching  it  up,  and  shaking  it  vigorously, 
till  the  covers  banged.  He  tore  the  leaves  into 
fragments  and  chased  them  around,  then  set- 
tled down  comfortably  to  chew  up  what  was 
left. 

It  is  but  justice  to  Duster  to  say  that  he  was 
generally  a  very  well-behaved  dog,  and  rarely 
did  any  mischief.  He  had  his  own  playthings, 
and  was  expected  to  keep  to  them.  Probably  in 
the  dim  light,  for  mamma  had  turned  down  the 
gas,  he  did  not  realize  that  the  new  plaything 
was  that  forbidden  delight,  a  book.  However, 
in  ten  minutes  the  charming  volume,  with  its 
beautiful  pictures,  and  choice  binding,  was  a 
wreck,  and  Duster  trotted  back  to  mamma,  feel- 
ing perfectly  virtuous,  and  much  refreshed,  as 
he  lay  down  on  her  dress  to  take  a  nap. 

But  the  next  morning  came  Cricket's  reckon- 
ing with  papa  and  mamma  and  the  book  —  or 
rather  with  the  remains  of  it. 

Donald  had  returned  the  night  before,  saying 
that  the  Bruces  had  not  seen  papa,  and  mamma, 


CRICKET  S    SHORT    MEMORY.  265 

of  course,  became  very  anxious.  Donald  had 
gone  out  again  to  two  or  three  places  where  he 
thought  his  father  might  be,  and  then  at  the 
last  minute  had  met  him  in  the  street.  Dr. 
Ward  had  rushed  to  the  station;  Mr.  Evans 
was  there,  hoping  he  might  come,  and  they 
had  a  hurried  talk,  for  fortunately  the  train 
was  late.  By  this  lucky  chance,  only,  was  a 
great  amount  of  inconvenience  saved  to  several 
people. 

Then  Dr.  Ward  came  home  to  find  mamma 
in  the  greatest  anxiety ;  and  then,  to  crown  all, 
when  they  went  into  the  library,  there  lay  papa's 
rare,  new  book,  a  wreck,  upon  the  floor. 

Cricket  came  from  that  interview  the  most 
wretched  little  girl  that  ever  lived.  It  was 
seldom  that  her  forgetfulness  was  the  cause  of 
so  much  mischief,  and  she  had  had  a  very  severe 
lecture. 

"I'm  perfectly  miserable,"  Cricket  sobbed, 
after  papa  had  gone  out.  "  I  thought  I  was 
getting  on  so  beautifully,  and  somehow,  I  felt 
sure  that  I  was  never  going  to  forget  again." 

"  I  'm  afraid  that  was  just  the  trouble,  dear. 
Whenever  you  feel  that  you  are  most  success- 
ful in  overcoming  a  fault,  then  is  just  the  time 


266  CKICKET. 

when  you  need  double  caution.  '  It's  always 
dangerous  to  be  safe/  you  know." 

"  Oh,  is  that  what  that  saying  means  ?  "  broke 
in  Cricket.  "  I  never  could  see  how  it  was  dan- 
gerous to  be  safe." 

"  That 's  exactly  it.  Now  I  want  you  never 
to  feel  safe.  There  is  always  danger  of  drop- 
ping your  ball." 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 
CRICKET'S  BOOMERANG. 

CRICKET  was  so  completely  subdued  by  this 
last  piece  of  forgetfulness,  and  its  consequences, 
that  for  weeks  afterwards  her  improvement  was 
simply  wonderful. 

But  old  habits  are  very  strong.  After  a  time 
Cricket's  watchfulness  over  herself  grew  less, 
and  the  old  story  began.  She  borrowed  Marjo- 
rie's  new  silk  umbrella  in  a  hurry,  because  she 
could  not  find  her  own,  and  left  it  in  the  horse- 
car.  The  very  next  week  she  took  Zaidee  and 
Helen  out  to  walk,  and  left  them  on  a  seat  in 
the  park,  while  she  ran  to  speak  to  some  little 
friends.  They,  not  knowing  that  she  had  the 
twins  with  her,  urged  her  to  go  down  to  Hew- 
lett's for  hot  chocolate  with  them.  She  went  off, 
forgetting  the  children,  whom  she  had  charged 
"  not  to  stir  till  I  come  back."  An  hour  after, 
when  she  reached  home,  she  was  met  by  Eliza 
with  a  demand  for  the  twins.  Nurse  flew  off  on 
learning  where  they  had  been  left,  and  fifteen 


268  CRICKET. 

minutes  later  she  brought  in  two  little  shivering, 
crying  girls,  who  had  not  stirred  from  the  seat, 
because  Cricket  had  bidden  them  stay  there. 
Several  policemen  and  kind-hearted  passers-by 
had  gathered  around  them,  and  were  trying  to 
find  out  where  they  belonged. 

A  fine  attack  of  croup  for  Helen  was  the 
result,  and  a  slight  cold  for  Zaidee,  who  was 
stronger,  and  Cricket  was  in  disgrace  again. 

"I  don't  like  to  forget,"  she  said,  miserably, 
when  the  entire  family  took  her  to  task  that 
evening.  "  I  never  mean  to  forget,  and  then  I 
go  and  do  it." 

"  Go  and  don't  do  it,  you  mean,"  said  Donald. 

"The  trouble  is,  little  daughter,"  said  papa, 
as  he  had  said  a  hundred  times  before,  "  that 
you  do  not  pay  sufficient  attention.  You  know 
how  many  times  I  have  told  you  that  attention 
is  putting  your  mind  upon  a  point,  with  a  view 
to  remembering  it." 

"I  expect  that's  the  trouble,"  said  Cricket, 
quickly.  "  I  do  fasten  my  mind  on  a  point.  I 
put  it  on  so  hard  that  the  point  sticks  through, 
and  then  of  course  I  can't  remember." 

"  I  should  think  you  'd  remember  sometimes, 
by  mere  accident,"  remarked  Marjorie,  looking 


CRICKET'S  BOOMERANG.  269 

up  from  her  book.  "  There  are  exceptions  to 
all  rules." 

"  Cricket  is  the  exception  to  that  rule,"  struck 
in  Donald. 

"  Now,  I  think  I  have  remembered  a  good 
many  things  thus  far,  sir,"  said  Cricket,  rather 
indignantly.  "  It  was  only  yesterday  that  you 
told  me  to  tell  Rose  Condit  something,  and  I 
could  n't  think  just  exactly  what  it  was,  but  I 
remembered  to  say  that  you  wanted  her  to 
come  and  see  you." 

There  was  a  shout  at  this. 

"  You  little  monkey,"  said  Donald,  getting 
red.  "Did  you  tell  her  that?  I  told  you  to 
say  that  I'd  see  her  to-night." 

"That's  pretty  near  the  same,  isn't  it," 
asked  Cricket,  anxiously. 

There  was  another  shout. 

"  Cricket  is  like  a  little  chap  that  I  used  to 
hear  of  when  I  was  a  small  boy,"  began  papa, 
standing  on  the  hearth-rug,  with  his  hands 
behind  his  back,  and  smiling  down  at  his  small 
daughter,  as  she  sat  on  the  rug,  clasping  her 
knees  with  both  hands,  and  staring  thoughtfully 
into  the  fire.  Cricket  was  such  a  lovable, 
winning  thing,  with  all  her  trying  ways,  that 
one  could  not  be  angry  with  her  long. 


270  CKICKET. 

"  Who  was  this  boy,  papa  ? "  she  said,  looking 
up.  "  Now,  please  don't  tell  me  about  any  good 
little  boy,  who  never  forgot." 

"This  wasn't  a  good  little  boy,  ma'am," 
laughed  papa ;  "  he  was  sent  by  his  mother  to 
the  store  for  some  eggs  and  sugar  and  molasses. 
Lest  he  should  forget,  she  told  him  to  repeat 
the  three  things  on  the  way.  So  he  started  off, 
saying  'Eggs,  sugar,  and  molasses  —  eggs, 
sugar,  and  molasses.'  Suddenly  he  stubbed  his 
toe,  and  fell  headlong.  As  he  picked  himself 
up,  he  said,  'Wax,  tar,  and  rosin  —  wax,  tar, 
and  rosin  —  ain't  forgot  yet.'  So  when  Cricket 
does  remember,  it  is  likely  to  be  the  wrong 
thing." 

"  The  trouble  is  that  Cricket's  forgetfulness 
never  makes  any  difference  to  herself.  She 
isn't  the  one  that  suffers,"  said  Marjorie,  still 
feeling  injured  over  her  silk  umbrella.  "  It 's 
always  something  of  other  people's  that  she 
forgets." 

"  It  ought  to  be  a  boomerang  arrangement," 
said  Donald,  as  he  got  up  to  go  out. 

"  What 's  a  boomer-something  ? "  asked 
Cricket,  curiously. 

"A  boomerang,  my  dear,"  returned  Donald, 


CRICKET'S  BOOMERANG.  271 

"  is  a  curved  piece  of  wood  about  a  yard  long 
which  is  used  by  the  Australians.  They  throw 
it  straight  along,  and  it  turns  a  few  somersaults, 
and  presently  comes  back  to  the  thrower.  If  a 
person  who  doesn't  understand  it  throws  it, 
it's  more  than  likely  to  come  back,  whack,  on 
his  own  head.  See?  Now  that's  the  style  of 
thing  to  make  you  remember,  Miss  Scricket.  A 
good,  sharp  rap  on  your  own  head,  when  you  're 
throwing  your  forgettings  around,  would  be  an 
excellent  thing,  wouldn't  it,  little  mother?" 
kissing  his  mother  as  he  passed  her  chair. 

Mamma  smiled  up  at  her  tall  son,  and  stroked 
Cricket's  curly  hair. 

"  I  'm  beginning  to  be  afraid,"  she  said, 
"  that  Donald  is  right,  my  little  girl,  and  that 
only  a  'boomerang  arrangement'  will  do  any 
lasting  good." 

Cricket  sighed.  "  It 's  very  hard  to  be  such 
a  torment  to  the  family,  when  I  love  everybody 
so,"  she  said,  plaintively.  "I  wish  somebody 
would  throw  stones  at  me." 

Now,  as  it  proved,  the  boomerang  was  not 
far  away. 

The  very  next  week  a  note  was  brought  to 
the  school  which  Cricket  attended,  for  her  to 


272  CKICKET. 

give  to  her  mother.  She  put  it  in  her  pocket, 
and  of  course  it  might  as  well  have  gone  into 
a  coal-mine,  as  far  as  her  thinking  of  it  again 
was  concerned. 

That  was  Wednesday.  Cricket  did  not 
chance  to  wear  that  particular  dress  again  till 
the  next  Wednesday,  for  she  tore  it  in  some 
way,  and  it  was  laid  aside  to  be  mended.  On 
going  home  from  school  she  chanced  to  put  her 
hand  in  her  pocket,  and  brought  up  the  note. 

"Where  did  this  come  from!"  she  thought, 
in  bewilderment.  She  could  not  at  all  remem- 
ber, but  she  concluded  that  some  one  had  given 
it  to  her  on  her  way  to  school,  though  she  could 
not  recall  it. 

"I'm  so  glad  I  thought  of  it,"  she  said  to 
herself,  quite  proudly,  and  she  held  it  in  her 
hand  all  the  way  home  lest  she  should  forget 
to  deliver  it. 

Mamma  received  the  week-old  note,  and  read 
it  without  any  suspicion.  It  was  dated,  simply, 
"  Wednesday  morning." 

"  This  is  from  Mrs.  Drayton,"  she  exclaimed 
to  papa.  "I'm  so  glad.  She  says  that  Mrs. 
Lynn  will  spend  a  day  and  night  with  her. 
She 's  the  famous  lecturer,  you  know.  She  and 


CRICKET'S  BOOMERANG.  273 

Mrs.  Drayton  were  school-mates.  She  comes 
very  unexpectedly  now,  and  Mrs.  Drayton  wants 
us  to  dine  there  to-night,  very  informally.  The 
Camerons  will  be  there  —  no  one  else.  You 
can  go,  can't  you,  dear  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  will  suit  me  very  well,"  said  papa. 

After  Cricket  had  left  the  room  Mrs.  Ward 
added, — 

"She  writes  a  postscript  to  say  that  she  is 
planning  a  luncheon  party  for  Emily,  for  her 
birthday  on  Saturday,  as  a  surprise  to  her,  and 
invites  Eunice  and  Cricket.  She  is  going  to 
take  the  children,  after,  to  the  matine'e,  to  see 
the  '  Old  Homestead.'  Isn't  that  just  like  Mrs. 
Drayton  ?  Poor  Eunice  won't  be  able  to  go 
unless  her  cold  is  very  much  better,  but  Cricket 
will  be  overjoyed.  And  she  says  not  to  tell  the 
children  till  Friday,  lest  Emily  should  hear  of 
it." 

Mamma  was  delighted  at  the  chance  of  meet- 
ing Mrs.  Lynn,  who  was  a  very  noted  woman, 
and  she  and  papa  went  off  in  good  season. 

About  half-past  eight,  to  the  surprise  of  the 
children,  who  were  gathered  in  the  sitting- 
room, — the  younger  ones  always  had  permis- 
sion to  sit  up  a  little  later  when  their  father 


274  CRICKET. 

and  mother  were  out — the  click  of  papa's  latch- 
key was  heard  in  the  door,  and  a  moment  after 
he  and  mamma  entered  the  room. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  Are  you  ill  ?  "  came 
in  a  chorus. 

"  Nobody  is  ill,"  said  papa,  looking  queer. 

«  Then  what  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Nothing  much  —  only  there  was  no  dinner- 
party." 

"No  dinner-party?"  every  one  exclaimed. 

Mamma  took  up  the  note  which  had  been 
left  on  the  table,  and  said  gravely  to  Cricket,  — 

"Tell  me  where  you  got  this  note,  my  dear?" 

"From  my  pocket,"  returned  Cricket,  in 
much  surprise. 

"  How  did  it  get  there  ?  When  did  you  find 
it?" 

"  Why,  this,  —  "  Cricket  hesitated.  "  Yes,  it 
certainly  was  this  morning." 

"You  certainly  gave  it  to  me  this  morning, 
but  who  gave  it  to  you,  and  when  ?  " 

"  It  was  the  funniest  thing,"  said  Cricket, 
eagerly.  "I  really  don't  know.  I  honestly 
don't  remember  putting  it  there,  and  yet  some- 
body must  have  given  it  to  me  on  the  way  to 
school." 


CRICKETS    BOOMERANG.  270 

"  Could  anybody  have  left  it  at  school,  for 
you  ?  "  asked  papa. 

"  No,  I  'm  sure  no  one  did  this  morning. 
Some  one  left  a  note  a  long  time  ago,  but, — " 
Cricket  stopped  suddenly,  in  dismay. 

"  Exactly,  my  dear,"  said  papa,  dryly.  "  It 
was  a  long  time  ago —  just  one  week." 

"  Mamma !  "  cried  Cricket,  "  did  n't  I  ever 
give  you  that  note  ?  Is  this  the  same  one  ?" 

"  The  very  same.  How  did  you  not  happen 
to  find  it  before?" 

Cricket  looked  down  at  her  dress. 

«  Why,  Cricket ! "  exclaimed  Eunice.  «  You 
haven't  had  that  dress  on  for  a  long  time. 
You  tore  the  ruffle  last  week,  and  you  were 
waiting  for  Eliza  to  mend  it." 

"  That  is  it,  then,"  said  mamma.  "  Now,  do 
you  know  what  you  have  done  ?  The  note  was 
given  you  last  Wednesday.  You  put  it  in  your 
pocket,  and  did  not  think  of  it  again.  You 
found  it  to-day,  and  did  not  even  know  how 
it  got  in  your  pocket." 

"  I  thought  it  was  queer,"  murmured  Cricket. 

"  You  gave  me  the  note  this  morning.  It 
was  dated  simply  'Wednesday,'  so  of  course  I 
never  doubted  it  had  just  been  given  you." 


276  CRICKET. 

"  Then  there  was  n't  any  dinner-party  to- 
night ? "  faltered  Cricket. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  what  your  f orgetfulness  has 
done,  my  dear,"  answered  mamma.  "  Mrs. 
Lynn  was  at  Mrs.  Drayton's  for  that  night  only. 
We  were  anxious  to  meet  each  other,  for  I 
know  her  sister  very  well.  She  came  very 
unexpectedly,  and  Mrs.  Drayton  sent  the  note  in 
to  you,  since  your  school  is  so  near  her,  as  the 
quickest  way  of  its  reaching  me. 

"  To-night,  as  papa  and  I  arrived,  we  saw  the 
Draytons'  carriage  standing  in  front  of  their 
door,  and  of  course  wondered  at  that.  As  we 
rang  the  bell,  the  door  opened,  and  the  Dray- 
tons  themselves  came  out,  to  our  great  amaze- 
ment. They  exclaimed  at  seeing  us,  and  we 
immediately  found  they  were  invited  out  to 
dinner  themselves  to-night.  Of  course  we  ex- 
plained, and  so  did  they,  though,  as  they  were 
already  late,  they  could  only  stop  a  few  moments. 

"  Mrs.  Drayton  was  greatly  surprised  last 
week,  when  we  neither  arrived  nor  sent  any 
word,  but  supposed  it  was  one  of  my  sudden 
illnesses.  Think  how  rude  you  made  us  appear, 
Cricket." 

"  And  then,  how  ridiculous  you  made  us  seem 


CRICKET'S  BOOMERANG.  277 

to-night,"  added  papa,  "  in  going  to  dine,  when 
there  was  n't  any  dinner-party." 

Cricket  was  much  too  wretched  to  speak. 
She  was  curled  up  in  a  corner  of  the  couch, 
with  her  head  buried  in  the  cushions. 

"  But  that  is  not  all,"  went  on  papa. 

Cricket  raised  a  tear-stained  face,  in  added 
dismay.  What  more  could  there  be  ? 

"  And  I  am  not  altogether  sorry,  my  dear, 
that  it  will  be  a  great  disappointment  to  your- 
self." 

"  Oh,  ho !  "  said  Donald,  quickly.  "  Boome- 
rang business,  I  see." 

"Yes,  a  boomerang,  and  no  mistake.  Tell 
her,  mamma." 

"  Mrs.  Dray  ton  had  arranged  a  children's  lun- 
cheon-party for  Saturday  as  a  surprise  for  Emily. 
Six  were  invited,  and  she  intended  to  take  them 
to  a  matine'e  afterward,  to  their  box,  to  see 
'The  Old  Homestead.'  She  invited  you  and 
Eunice.  I  thought  I  should  let  you  go,  Cricket, 
even  though  Eunice  may  not  be  well  enough." 

Cricket  came  to  her  feet  with  a  bound.  "  Can 
I  go  ?"  she  asked,  eagerly.  "  I  am  dying  to  see 
4  The  Old  Homestead  ? '  Oh,  goody,  goody !  " 

"  Don't  you  understand,  dear  ? "  asked  mamma. 


278  CRICKET. 

"  The  matine'e-party  shares  the  fate  of  the  din- 
ner-party. They  are  both  over,  and  we  were  not 
there.  You  forgot  the  note,  you  see,  and  it  was 
last  Saturday,  you  know." 

"  Last  Saturday !  Have  I  lost  it ! "  exclaimed 
Cricket,  with  eyes  as  large  as  saucers. 

"  Whew  ! "  whistled  Donald.  "  That 's  a  good 
hard  whack  with  the  boomerang,  my  lady.  You 
threw  it  well,  that  time." 

"  Hush,  Donald,"  said  mamma.  "  Don't  tease 
her." 

Cricket  burst  iuto  a  flood  of  tears.  To  have 
lost  one  of  Emily  Drayton's  parties !  Such  beau- 
tiful parties  her  mamma  always  had  for  her,  too. 
And  then  think  of  a  matine'e  and  a  box !  Dr. 
Ward  did  not  approve  of  much  theatre-going  for 
little  people,  and  the  children  rarely  went,  ex- 
cepting for  their  Christmas  treat.  All  Cricket's 
little  friends  had  seen  '  The  Old  Homestead,' 
and  she  had  been  begging  for  weeks  to  go.  Now 
by  her  own  careless  forgetfulness  she  had  lost 
it.  It  was  too  dreadful.  Her  boomerang  had 
struck  her  a  "  whack,"  indeed. 

"I'm  awfully  sorry  for  you,  Cricket,"  Mar- 
jorie  said,  "but  I  can't  help  hoping  that  you'll 
realize  now  how  pleasant  it  is  for  other  people 


CRICKET'S  BOOMERANG.  279 

to  lose  flower-shows  and  umbrellas  and  dinner- 
parties." 

"  Make  her  stop,  mamma !  "  sobbed  wretched 
Cricket.  "  I  'm  always  sorry  when  I  forget 
your  things,  Marjorie." 

"  Yes,"  assented  teasing  Donald,  though  he 
really  pitied  his  little  sister.  "  It 's  easy  to 
bear  another  man's  misfortune  like  a  Christian. 
Come,  youngster,  take  your  whacking  like  a 
man." 

"By-the-way,  have  you  had  any  dinner?" 
asked  Marjorie,  of  mamma. 

"  Oh,  yes,  papa  and  I  went  to  the  Bolingbroke 
and  dined.  Come,  Cricket,  it's  bedtime.  I'll 
go  up  with  you." 

Cricket  stumbled  upstairs,  blind  with  tears. 
Mamma  helped  her  to  undress,  in  her  gentle 
way,  and  when  the  little  girl  was  in  bed  she  sat 
down  and  talked  with  her  for  a  while. 

"Yes,  it's  very  hard,  little  daughter,"  said 
mamma,  "  but  now  I  want  you  to  think  how 
often  your  forgetfulness  has  caused  other  people 
to  lose  as  much  pleasure  as  this  of  yours.  I 
cannot  tell  you,  for  instance,  how  disappointed 
I  am,  not  to  see  Mrs.  Lynn.  She  went  to  New 
York  the  next  day,  and  sailed  on  Saturday  for 


280  CRICKET. 

Europe  for  a  long  stay.  I  may  not  have  another 
chance  of  meeting  her. 

"All  this  is  serious,  but  not  so  much  so,  as 
your  forgetting  old  Mrs.  Cunnnings's  message  not 
long  ago,  so  that  her  poor  husband  nearly  died 
before  papa  could  get  there.  It  is  not  worse 
than  when  you  forgot  to  tell  Donald  that  Mr. 
Marsh  wanted  him  to  call  at  his  office  on  busi- 
ness ;  or  when  you  did  n't  tell  papa  that  Mr. 
Evans  wanted  to  see  him,  or  when  you  forgot  the 
children,  and  gave  poor  little  Helen  such  an  at- 
tack of  the  croup  that  she  is  scarcely  strong  yet." 

"Do  people  always  feel  as  badly  as  I  do?" 
sobbed  Cricket. 

"  Just  as  badly,  my  dear.  Indeed,  I  think  it's 
a  trifle  easier  when  you've  only  yourself  to 
blame.  As  Marjorie  said,  it  is  strange  that  you  so 
seldom  suffer  yourself,  and  yet  it  is  not  strange, 
either.  You  remember  the  things,  you  see,  that 
you  are  interested  in.  I  do  hope,  dearie,  that 
this  will  be  a  lesson,  and  that  your  boomerang 
may  never  hit  you  so  hard  again." 

"  If  boomerangs  hurt  other  people  half  as 
much  as  this  one  has  hurt  me,"  said  Cricket, 
between  her  sobs,  "  they  sha'n't  feel  any  more  of 
my  boomerangs,  I  am  sure  of  that." 


CRICKET'S  BOOMERANG.  281 

"  I  hope  not,  darling,"  said  mamma,  kissing 
her  good-night. 

And  really,  I  am  glad  to  say  that  this  was 
Cricket's  last  serious  piece  of  forgetfulness.  She 
set  herself  with  all  her  might  and  main  to  con- 
quer her  fault,  and  tried  as  she  had  never  tried 
before.  She  regularly  remembered  to  bring 
home  both  her  bundle  and  her  change  when  she 
was  sent  on  an  errand.  She  posted  letters 
promptly.  She  remembered  various  messages 
that  were  given  to  her  for  her  mamma ;  and  on 
one  occasion  she  even  got  up  in  the  middle  of 
the  night,  and  went  to  papa  with  some  word 
which  had  been  given  to  her  for  him  during  the 
day,  and  which  she  had  forgotten. 

So  she  improved  steadily.  I  do  not  mean  to 
say  that  she  never  forgot  or  neglected  anything 
again,  for  she  certainly  did ;  but  she  would  usually 
recall  the  forgotten  thing  in  time  to  set  it  straight. 
She  understood  now  that  no  half-way  trying  will 
conquer  any  fault,  and  nothing  outside  will  help 
one  to  do  it  until  a  person  makes  up  his  mind  to 
do  it  himself. 

Weeks  after,  there  arrived  for  Cricket,  one 
evening  after  dinner,  a  mysterious  package. 
The  family  were  all  in  the  sitting-room,  where 


282  CKICKET. 

they  usually  gathered  for  a  time,  after  dinner, 
before  they  separated  to  their  various  duties  or 
pleasures.  Cricket  opened  it  amid  much  won- 
dering on  the  part  of  the  others,  as  well  as  on 
her  own. 

It  was  a  long  thing,  and  when  Cricket  got  it 
free  from  all  its  wrappings,  what  do  you  think 
she  found  ?  An  oddly  curved  piece  of  hard 
wood,  nearly  a  yard  long,  pointed  at  both  ends, 
about  four  inches  wide  in  the  middle,  and  half 
an  inch  thick. 

"  What  in  the  world  is  this  queer-looking 
thing  ? "  Cricket  asked,  holding  it  up  in  both 
hands  in  great  amazement. 

"  A  boomerang,  my  dear,"  answered  Donald. 
"  For  memorabil." 

"  For  what  ?  " 

"  Memorabil.  That  means  to  remember 
something  by.  Tie  it  up  with  pretty  little  blue 
ribbons,  and  hang  it  in  your  room,  my  dear,  as 
girls  always  do  with  their  trinkets.  When  you 
look  at  it,  you  '11  remember  the  famous  occasion 
when  you  learned  not  to  forget,  for  you  're  get- 
ting to  be  as  reliable  as  a  district  messenger 
boy.  We  can  give  you  an  errand  now  with 
forty -nine  chances  out  of  a  hundred  that  it  will 


CRICKET'S  BOOMERANG.  283 

be  done.     Next  summer  I'll  teach  you  how  to 
throw  this.     I  've  taken  lessons  on  purpose." 

And  the  boomerang  hangs  on  Cricket's  wall 
to  this  day. 


CHAPTER  XXYIH. 

KENNETH'S  DAY. 

LIKE  most  days,  this  particular  day  of  Ken- 
neth's began  in  the  morning.  He  slept  in  a 
crib  in  mamma's  large  room,  for  the  twins  and 
Eliza  had  the  nursery  all  to  themselves. 

Every  morning,  as  soon  as  it  was  dawn,  Ken- 
neth would  begin  to  stir  like  a  little  bird  in  his 
white  nest,  and  then,  half  asleep  as  he  was,  he 
would  scramble  quietly  out  of  his  crib,  gather 
up  his  long,  white  nightie,  and  steal  softly  over 
to  the  big  bed  across  the  room. 

Then  came  the  never-failing  joke  of  clapping 
his  little  fat  hands  over  papa's  sleepy  eyes,  with 
a  chirping,— 

"  Dess  who 's  here,  papa ! "  and  papa,  of 
course,  never  could  guess,  and  always  named 
over  the  whole  flock,  from  seventeen-year-old 
Donald  down,  till  the  baby  called  out,  glee- 
fully,- 

"  It 's  you'  Tennet,  papa !  "  and  scrambled  like 
a  little  monkey  into  his  arms.  He  was  such  a 


KENNETH'S  DAY.  285 

sunny  little  creature,  always  beaming  on  the 
world  in  general,  with  such  radiant  good-temper, 
that  it  was  no  wonder  he  was  everybody's  pet. 

This  particular  morning  was  the  seventh  of 
November,  just  before  the  Presidential  election. 
Kenneth  was  astir  earlier  than  usual,  for  some 
reason,  and  it  was  still  dark  when  he  crept 
with  unusual  caution  across  the  floor,  and  stuck 
his  little  fists  into  papa's  eyes. 

He  lifted  him  up,  without  his  customary  frolic, 
saying,  sleepily,— 

"  Be  a  good  baby,  Kenneth,  and  let  papa 
have  another  snooze."  So  the  little  fellow  cud- 
dled down  in  his  father's  arms,  and  lay  as  still 
as  a  mouse,  with  his  arms  tight  around  papa's 
neck,  and  his  golden  curls  drifting  across  his 
face  and  getting  dreadfully  in  his  way.  At  last 
papa  was  aroused  by  a  patient  little  sigh. 

"  Now,  then,  Kenneth,"  he  said,  suddenly 
hoisting  him  up  in  the  air,  "  do  you  know  that 
papa  must  go  and  vote  to-day  ?  " 

"  Let  Tennet  do,  too,  papa  ? "  he  suggested, 
coaxingly. 

"  Not  to-day,  my  little  man.  You  '11  have  to 
wait  for  eighteen  years." 

"  Tan  I  do  res'day  ?  "  this  was  as  near  as  his 


286  CRICKET. 

crooked  little  tongue  could  come  to  yesterday, 
which  was  his  name  for  any  indefinite  period. 

"  We  '11  see,  my  son.  By-the-way,  what  are 
your  politics  ?  " 

Kenneth  sat  up  on  papa's  chest  and  looked 
wise.  He  knew  quite  well  when  papa  was 
teasing  him. 

"  You  are  a  Republican,  I  suppose,  you 
monkey  ?  " 

Kenneth  shook  his  head  till  his  sunny  curls 
fell  over  his  eyes. 

"What!  not  a  Republican?  You  don't 
mean  to  tell  me  you  're  a  Democrat,  do  you  ?  " 

Kenneth  considered. 

"  Es,  I  is.  I  is  a  Democrack,"  he  said,  decid- 
edly, conquering  the  c's,  as  he  sometimes  did, 
with  a  mighty  effort. 

"Very  well,  then,"  said  papa,  with  equal 
decision,  "  then  you  must  go  away  from  me.  I 
can't  have  any  little  Democracks  in  my  bed." 

To  his  surprise,  the  baby  slowly  slipped  from 
his  arms  and  slid  down  to  the  floor  without  a 
word.  Papa  watched  him  with  amusement ; 
never  thinking  he  would  hold  out. 

"  Change  your  mind,  baby,"  he  said,  coaxingly. 
"  You  're  not  a  Democrack  now,  are  you  ? " 


KENNETH'S  DAY.  287 

Kenneth  looked  back,  wistfully.  He  was 
half-way  across  the  floor. 

"  I  is  a  Demo-crack  —  "  he  answered,  without 
wavering. 

"  Then  you  '11  have  to  get  into  your  own 
crib,"  said  papa,  teasingly. 

Without  a  word  the  baby  went  on,  climbed 
up  on  a  chair  and  tumbled  head  over  heels  into 
his  own  nest. 

Fifteen  minutes  later,  when  papa  got  up  to 
dress,  he  found  his  little  son  cuddled  down  in  a 
forlorn  little  ball,  with  his  thumb  tucked  into 
his  mouth,  and  his  blue  eyes  grave  and  wide. 

Kenneth  hid  his  head  on  papa's  shoulder, 
when  he  lifted  him  up  and  petted  him ;  but  he 
had  nothing  to  say.  By-and-by  he  wriggled 
away  from  him  and  crept  up  to  mamma,  who 
was  sitting  before  the  dressing-table,  brushing 
her  hair,  as  bright  as  baby's  own. 

"  Mamma,"  he  whispered,  very  softly,  "  I 
is  n't  a  Demo-crack  now,  but  I  don't  want  papa 
to  see  me  chain  my  mind." 

Kenneth's  mind  was  destined  to  give  him 
more  trouble  that  very  day,  for,  with  all  his 
sweetness,  he  was  very  persistent. 

That  afternoon  he  was  in  the  library,  all  alone 


288  CRICKET. 

with  mamma.  The  elder  girls  were  all  off, 
and  the  twins  were  out  with  Eliza,  and  papa 
was  making  his  daily  rounds  among  his  patients, 
so  Kenneth  and  mamma  had  the  blazing  wood 
fire  —  for  the  early  autumn  days  were  chilly  — 
and  the  sunny  library  all  to  themselves. 

Mamma  was  sewing  on  some  dainty  white 
material,  and  Kenneth  was  amusing  himself  in 
his  usual  quiet  fashion.  There  was  a  lower 
shelf,  close  to  the  floor,  where  the  children's 
books  were  kept,  and  there  stood  a  long  line  of 
attractive,  red-bound  Rollo  books,  fourteen  of 
them.  These  always  had  a  special  fascination 
for  Kenneth.  He  would  pull  them  all  out,  and 
build  houses  with  them,  or  turn  over  the  leaves, 
looking  at  pictures,  talking  busily  to  himself 
all  the  time. 

At  last  he  tired  of  them,  and  ran  away  to 
something  else. 

"Put  up  the  Rollo  books,  darling,"  said 
mamma. 

"  'Esr,  I  put  zem  up,"  said  Kenneth,  but  he 
kept  on  pursuing  some  belated  flies. 

"  See,  mamma !  "  he  cried,  "  I  dust  pote  'em, 
so,  and  zey  all  fall  down." 

"  Poor  flies,"  said  mamma,  pitifully.  "  Don't 
kill  them.  That  is  not  kind." 


KENNETH'S  DAY.  289 

"  All  right,  I  won't,"  Kenneth  answered. 
Presently  mamma,  attracted  by  the  stillness, 
turned  around.  Kenneth  was  still  standing  by 
the  window,  with  his  little  forefinger  pointed  at 
a  poor,  weak  fly. 

"F'y,  fy,"  he  said,  half-aloud,  "does  you 
want  to  do  to  heaven  ?  Do  zere,  zen ! "  and 
down  came  his  plump  finger,  crushing  the  fly. 

"  Kenneth,"  said  mamma,,  to  draw  off  his 
attention,  "come  now  and  pick  up  the  books 
you  had." 

Kenneth,  for  a  wonder,  looked  very  unwilling. 
Sending  flies  to  heaven  was  much  more  interest- 
ing. However,  he  got  up  slowly,  and  went 
across  the  room,  looking  at  mamma  from  under 
his  long  lashes. 

"  Pick  them  all  up,  baby,"  said  mamma, 
cheerily,  "  and  then  come  and  sit  in  mamma's 
lap  and  watch  for  papa.  It's  almost  time  for 
him  to  come." 

Kenneth  stood  by  the  scattered  pile  of  books. 
Somehow  he  felt  very  unwilling  to  put  them 
back  in  their  places. 

"Come,  little  son,  pick  them  up,"  repeated 
mamma.  To  her  intense  surprise,  Kenneth  sud- 
denly whipped  his  hands  behind  his  back. 


290  CRICKET. 

"  Tennet  won't ! "  he  announced,  standing  as 
straight  on  his  two  fat  legs  as  a  little  drum- 
major.  If  one  of  the  pet  doves  had  flown  in  her 
face,  mamma  could  scarcely  have  been  more 
surprised.  She  had  never  before  had  to  tell 
Kenneth  twice  to  do  anything. 

For  a  moment  she  scarcely  knew  what  to  do. 

"  See  if  you  can't  get  all  the  books  in  order, 
Kenneth,  before  papa  comes,"  she  said,  after  a 
moment,  as  if  she  had  not  heard. 

"  Tennet  won't ! "  in  tones  more  decided,  as 
he  gained  courage. 

"  Then,"  said  mamma,  slowly,  "  Kenneth 
must  go  in  the  corner  for  five  minutes." 

Kenneth,  looking  very  serious,  but  quite 
determined,  immediately  took  up  his  station  in 
the  corner  formed  by  the  tall  old  clock  and  a 
book-case,  while  mamma  waited  while  the  mo- 
ments ticked  off.  An  unending  time  it  seemed 
to  the  naughty  baby,  who  stood  gravely  watching 
his  mother,  as  if  he  were  not  at  all  concerned. 

Then  mamma  said, — 

«  Will  Kenneth  pick  up  the  books  now  ?  " 

«  Tennet  won't." 

This  time  there  was  a  gleam  of  mischief  that 
at  once  resolved  mamma  to  sterner  measures. 


KENNETH'S  DAY.  291 

"Very  well,  then  I  must  spat  baby's  hands 
hard,"  and  she  took  up  one  of  the  soft  bits  of 
velvet  that  served  Kenneth  for  hands,  and 
bestowed  a  decided  spat  upon  it.  Kenneth 
winked  and  swallowed.  He  put  his  reddened 
lingers  behind  his  back,  and  promptly  offered 
the  other  hand,  which  mamma  spatted  also. 

Straightway  he  went  through  the  same  per- 
formance, producing  hand  number  one.  It  was 
difficult  to  keep  from  laughing,  for  the  baby  was 
so  sober  and  so  determined.  He  never  moved 
his  eyes  from  mamma's  face. 

Fully  half  a  dozen  times,  mamma  slapped  the 
hands  of  her  rebellious  little  man.  Then,  sud- 
denly remembering  baby's  speech  in  the  nursery, 
she  said, — 

"Now,  Kenneth,  mamma  is  going  into  the 
hall  for  a  few  minutes,  and  there  will  be  nobody 
to  see  you  change  your  mind,  so  you  can  pick 
up  the  books,  and — " 

"  Tennet  won't !  "  came  with  such  determined 
emphasis  that  mamma  almost  jumped. 

"  Then,  when  I  come  back,"  mamma  went  on, 
looking  very  grave,  "  I  will  bring  a  little  switch 
with  me,  and  whip  my  baby's  hands  hard. 
Kenneth  must  not  say  « won't '  to  mamma." 


292  CKICKET. 

Kenneth's  eyes  looked  very  serious  indeed,  as 
his  mother  left  the  room.  Such  a  long,  long 
time  she  was  gone ! 

Kenneth  looked  at  the  books,  and  then  at  his 
red  fingers.  Papa  might  come  and  find  him  in 
the  corner.  He  began  to  want  to  go  and  put 
the  books  back  now,  but  somehow  his  legs 
would  not  carry  him  there.  Then  mamma 
appeared,  and,  oh,  dreadful !  she  had  a  little 
lilac  switch,  that  to  baby's  frightened  eyes 
looked  like  a  club.  Very  slowly  she  came 
towards  her  little  son,  looking,  oh,  so  sad  !  and 
suddenly  Kenneth's  stubbornness  melted  away. 

"  Tennet  will !  Tennet  will ! "  he  cried,  and 
flew  past  mamma,  and  with  breathless  haste 
scrambled  up  the  red-bound  Rollo  books,  stowing 
them  in  their  places  with  much  eagerness,  if  not 
very  carefully. 

Mamma  sat  awaiting  him  with  open  arms, 
and  as  Kenneth  nestled  up  to  her  shoulder,  he 
put  his  arms  around  her  neck  and  whispered,  — 

"  Please  don't  tell  papa  zat  I  had  to  chain  my 
mind  aden." 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

A    STRAWBERRY    HUNT. 

THE  winter  in  town  slipped  by  quickly.  The 
children  were  counting  impatiently  the  weeks 
that  must  pass  before  they  should  be  at  dear  old 
Kayuna  again,  when  all  plans  for  the  summer 
were  very  suddenly  changed. 

Mamma  grew  no  stronger  as  the  spring  came 
on,  and  papa  and  other  doctors  thought  that  she 
ought  to  have  a  sea-voyage.  Papa  decided  to  go 
abroad  for  two  or  three  months  and  see  what  the 
air  in  the  Swiss  mountains  would  do  for  her. 
At  first  mamma  insisted  on  taking  all  the  chil- 
dren, for  she  could  not  make  up  her  mind  to  leave 
one  of  her  dear  little  flock  behind,  but  papa  knew 
that  she  ought  to  have  no  care  at  all.  Finally, 
after  much  discussion,  it  was  settled  in  this 
way  :  Marjorie  and  Donald,  who  were  old  enough 
to  be  of  some  help  and  comfort  to  mamma,  should 
go,  and  the  other  children  should  be  sent  to  Mar- 
bury,  a  dear  old  seaport  town,  where  grand- 
mamma lived,  for  the  summer.  Mamma  begged 


294  CBICKET. 

for  Kenneth,  her  baby,  but  the  doctors  all  said 
no.  Eliza  was  perfectly  devoted  to  him  and  the 
twins,  and  she  promised  not  to  let  them  out  of 
her  sight  all  summer,  and  besides,  Auntie  Jean 
would  be  at  grandma's  also.  So  mamma  had  to 
be  content. 

Kayuna  was  to  have  an  addition  built  on  this 
summer,  since  they  were  all  to  be  away,  for,  as 
the  family  grew,  they  needed  more  room,  and 
much  repairing  was  to  be  done  also. 

Papa  and  mamma  were  to  sail  the  last  of  June. 
One  day,  about  the  middle  of  the  month,  papa 
went  out  to  Kayuna,  tp  give  his  final  directions 
about  the  work  to  be  done  there. 

"  Children,"  he  said  at  dinner,  that  night,  "  I 
saw  that  the  strawberry-beds  at  Kayuna  were  in 
prime  condition  to-day.  The  vines  are  laden 
with  fruit.  Would  you  like  to  make  a  picnic 
out  there  in  a  day  or  two,  and  gather  some? 
You  won't  see  Kayuna  strawberries  this  summer, 
you  know." 

"  I  don't  think  they  need  that  argument,"  said 
mamma,  smiling  at  the  exclamations  of  delight 
that  greeted  this  proposal. 

"  How  shall  we  go,  papa  ? "  asked  Marjorie, 
who  was  always  practical. 


A   STRAWBERRY   HUNT.  295 

"Take  the  street-cars  out  to  Porter's  Inn," 
said  papa,  "  and  then  walk  the  rest  of  the  way. 
You  won't  mind  the  two  miles.  Or  you  can  go 
by  rail,  and  get  out  at  East  Wellsboro',  only  you 
can't  get  there  very  early  that  way." 

The  children  voted  for  the  street-cars  and 
Porter's  Inn. 

"Shall  the  kidlets  go?"  asked  Eunice.  This 
was  Donald's  name  for  the  twins,  for  Eunice  and 
Cricket  were  the  kids. 

"No,"  said  Marjorie,  decidedly.  "It's  too 
far  altogether  for  the  twins." 

Zaidee  and  Helen  immediately  set  up  a  wail, 
at  being  thus  put  aside. 

"  It 's  really  much  too  far  for  you,  my  pets," 
said  mamma.  "  You  and  Kenneth  shall  go  to 
the  park  with  Eliza  and  have  a  fine  time.  You 
can  sail  around  the  pond,  and  feed  the  swans." 

"  And  we  '11  bring  you  lots  of  strawberries," 
added  Cricket,  comfortingly. 

"  Yes,  do ;  and  be  as  supcessful  as  you  were 
last  summer  with  the  blackberries,"  began  papa, 
with  a  twinkle,  but  Cricket  pinched  him  under 
the  table  till  he  begged  for  mercy. 

"  Could  n't  we  ask  two  or  three  boys  and  girls 
to  go  with  us  ?  "  asked  Marjorie.  "  I  'd  like  to 
have  May  Chester  and  the  Gray  boys." 


296  CRICKET. 

"Yes,  certainly.  Ask  Jack  Fleming,  too. 
Cook  shall  put  you  up  some  luncheon,  and  you 
can  take  my  keys  and  go  into  the  house,  if  you 
like." 

"  Let 's  go  to-morrow.  Things  always  happen 
if  you  put  things  off,"  said  Eunice,  not  very 
clearly. 

"  Very  well,  my  dear.  I  'm  of  your  opinion 
myself,"  said  papa.  "  Marjorie,  I  '11  take  you 
round  to  see  May  Chester,  after  dinner,  and 
while  you're  there,  I'll  look  up  the  boys." 
Papa  would  take  any  amount  of  trouble  for  the 
happiness  of  his  flock. 

Everybody  proved  to  be  delighted  with  the 
idea.  The  next  day  was  wonderfully  fine,  even 
for  June.  At  nine  o'clock  the  party  were  all 
gathered  at  the  Wards'.  Each  little  person  had 
a  wicker-basket,  now  containing  luncheon,  but 
which  were  to  come  home  full  of  the  biggest 
berries  they  could  find.  If  they  wished,  they 
were  to  get  some  big  pails  at  the  farm-house,  and 
'Gustus  John,  who  was  coming  into  town  with 
fresh  vegetables,  would  bring  them  in  for  the 
children. 

Papa  took  them  himself  to  the  street-cars,  to 
see  the  merry  party  safely  off. 


A    STRAWBERRY    HUNT.  297 

"  Don't  stay  too  late,"  cautioned  papa.  "  On 
the  other  hand,  you  need  not  come  home  at 
noon,"  with  a  sly  glance  at  Cricket. 

"  Papa  ! "  said  that  young  lady,  "  if  you  say 
any  more  about  that,  I  won't  come  to-night,  and 
then  you  '11  be  sorry." 

Then  the  car  came,  and  they  were  off. 

"  Is  n't  this  larks  ?  "  beamed  Eunice.  Picnics 
in  the  country  were  every-day  affairs,  but  to 
start  right  out  from  town,  to  be  gone  all  day, 
was  particularly  fine  and  grown-up. 

Fortunately,  when  they  were  only  half-way 
there,  they  were  the  only  occupants  of  the  cars, 
and  they  seemed  to  fill  it  full.  Each  one  tried 
every  corner,  and  each  seat  between.  They  read 
the  advertisements  carefully,  and  tried  the  effect 
of  reading  them  backwards.  Then  they  read  a 
line  from  each  one,  and  each  reading  seemed 
funnier  than  the  last. 

"Marjorie,"  asked  Cricket,  who  had  been 
studying  one  advertisement  carefully,  "  what 
does  Ware  mean  ?  " 

"  Wear  ?  "  repeated  Marjorie ;  "  why,  to  put  on 
anything  —  to  wear  it." 

"  No,  I  don't  mean  that  kind  of  wear.  Look  up 
there.  What  kind  of  a  ham  is  a  Wareham  ?  " 


298  CKICKET. 

"  Where  is  it  ?  oh,  that !  "  and  Marjorie  went 
off  in  a  fit  of  laughter.  "  That  does  n't  mean  a 
ham  at  all.  It's  just  one  word  —  Wareham. 
"It's  a  place, — Wareham  Manufactory." 

"  Oh,"  said  Cricket,  meekly.  "  I  thought  it 
was  a  new  kind  of  ham." 

In  spite  of  their  fun,  it  was  a  long  ride  to 
Porter's  Inn,  which  was  the  end  of  the  line. 
They  were  glad  enough  to  scramble  out  and 
stretch  their  limbs.  It  was  a  warm  morning, 
and  as  the  white  stretch  of  country  road  was 
unshaded  for  a  long  distance,  it  was  a  hot,  tired 
little  party  that  reached  Kayuna.  As  they 
pushed  back  the  heavy  gates,  and  went  up  the 
avenue,  how  delicious  seemed  the  cool,  green 
shade  of  the  great  beech  trees,  and  how  soft  to 
their  feet  was  the  fine  turf,  along  which  they 
scampered ! 

How  strange  it  seemed  to  the  Wards  to  look 
up  at  those  shuttered  windows,  and  see  no  signs 
of  life  about  the  house  ! 

"  Seems  as  if  I  must  see  Dixie  come  racing 
down  to  meet  us,"  said  Cricket,  "  and  hear  his 
little  '  row  !  row ! '  "  But  Dixie  had  been  sent 
to  the  rectory  to  spend  the  summer,  and  Mopsie 
and  Charcoal  had  gone  over  to  Marbury,  so  that 
the  children  could  have  them  there. 


A   STRAWBERKY   HUNT.  299 

The  workmen  had  not  begun  their  work  yet, 
so  there  were  no  signs  of  life  about  the  place. 
Marjorie  had  been  intrusted  with  papa's  keys. 
She  felt  very  grand,  drawing  them  from  her 
pocket  with  a  flourish,  and  inserting  one  in  the 
door.  It  swung  back  with  a  startlingly  loud 
clang,  and  a  rush  of  close,  shut-up  air  came  out. 
The  great,  echoing  hall  looked  so  large  and  so 
lonely  that  for  a  moment  the  children  hesitated 
to  enter  it. 

Jack  found  his  courage  at  the  sight  of  the 
broad,  smooth  balustrade. 

"Hooray!"  he  shouted.  "My  eye!  what  a 
boss  place  to  slide  down ! " 

He  dashed  off  up  the  stairs,  and  came  bolting 
down  the  balustrade  again,  sweeping  a  fine  lot 
of  dust  before  him.  The  spell  was  broken,  and 
the  children  entered  laughing.  Once  inside,  the 
Wards  soon  lost  the  sense  of  strangeness,  and 
raced  all  over  the  house  in  great  delight,  show- 
ing their  favourite  places  to  their  friends. 

"  Do  let 's  rest,"  begged  May  Chester,  at  last. 
"I'm  nearly  dead!  " 

"  Let 's  go  into  the  library  and  sit  down.  It 's 
always  cool  and  lovely  there,"  began  Marjorie, 
leading  the  way.  "  Oh,  I  forgot !  The  chairs 


300  CKICKET. 

are  all  tied  up,  and  it 's  so  gloomy  with  the 
shutters  closed.  We  might  sit  down  on  the 
stairs." 

Dusty  stairs  are  not  very  soft  places  to  rest 
on,  when  one  is  really  tired,  however,  and  they 
soon  decided  to  go  out  and  sit  on  the  grass. 

In  their  interest  in  exploring  the  house,  they 
had  quite  forgotten  the  strawberries,  till  Alex 
Gray  suddenly  remembered  as  they  stood  on 
the  piazza. 

"  Hallo !  where  are  our  strawberries  ?  I  quite 
forgot  to  look  and  see  in  which  of  the  rooms  the 
strawberry-bed  is  placed." 

"  Don't  try  to  be  funny,"  said  Marjorie,  "  it 's 
too  hot." 

"I  know  where  the  strawberry  bed  isn't," 
said  Jack,  "  it  is  n't  down  cellar,"  as  he  appeared 
with  smutty  streaks  across  his  face,  showing 
where  he  had  been  exploring. 

"  Let 's  rest  a  few  minutes  longer  under  these 
lovely  trees,  pleaded  May.  "  It  will  be  so  hot 
out  in  the  garden." 

"  Well,  I  '11  show  you,"  said  Cricket,  running 
down  the  steps.  "I  won't  keep  you  in  suspi- 
cion." 

" In  suspeme"  put  in  Marjorie. 


A   STRAWBERRY    HUNT.  301 

"  Well,  I  meant  suspense.  It 's  all  the  same," 
said  Cricket,  cheerfully.  "  Come  on,  boys  !  Oh, 
you  dear  old  trees ! " 

"I  suppose  we  might  as  well  all  go,  then," 
said  Marjorie,  getting  up. 

The  strawberry  beds  quite  fulfilled  Dr.  Ward's 
accounts  of  them.  The  children  fell  eagerly  to 
work,  their  fatigue  all  forgotten.  Such  great, 
luscious  berries  as  drooped  their  rosy  faces 
under  the  leaves  would  make  everything  for- 
gotten but  themselves.  For  a  while  there  were 
constant  shouts  of  "  Oh,  what  a  beauty !  "  "  My ! 
look  at  this  bunch!"  "See  these  bouncers!" 
till  beauties  and  bouncers  were  an  old  story. 

"  I  could  n't  eat  another  berry  to  save  my 
life,  I  do  believe ! "  sighed  Eunice,  at  last,  look- 
ing very  sad. 

"  Eat  them,  then,  to  save  the  berries,"  an- 
swered Jack,  popping  a  very  big  one  into  her 
mouth. 

"  Now  for  my  part,"  said  Alex,  "  I  was  just 
going  to  inquire  about  luncheon." 

The  girls,  in  chorus,  protested  that  they 
could  n't  eat  a  mouthful. 

«  Well,  I  like  that ! "  returned  Alex.  «  As  if 
we  'd  be  filled  up  by  a  few  berries." 


302  CKICKET. 

"  A  few  berries  ?  oh !  "  laughed  Marjorie. 

"They  are  soft  and  not  filling,"  answered 
Alex.  "  What  do  you  think  boys  are  made  of, 
ma'am  ?  " 

"  I  know,"  answered  Cricket,  quickly.  "  They 
are  made  like  accordiums — to  stretch  out." 

"Accordions,"  corrected  Marjorie,  with  a 
laugh.  "Oh,  Cricket,  you're  the  worst  child 
about  long  words  ! " 

"  I  don't  care,"  answered  Cricket,  comfortably. 
"  People  know  what  I  mean." 

"  Never  mind,  Spider,"  said  Alex,  "you  're  my 
friend,  I  see.  Come  and  give  this  accordion 
something  to  stretch  on." 

"  I  ought  to  remember  that  boys  are  hollow," 
said  Marjorie,  straightening  up,  "  after  all  my 
experience  with  Donald  and  Will  and  Archie 
Somers.  Let's  go  into  the  orchard  near  the  old 
well.  It's  always  so  cool  there." 

When  lunch  was  all  spread  it  looked  so  tempt- 
ing that  the  girls  concluded  that  they  could 
manage  to  eat  a  few  mouthfuls,  and  before  long 
there  was  n't  a  morsel  of  anything  left.  After 
luncheon  they  sat  awhile  under  the  dear  old 
apple-trees,  which  were  of  the  high,  old-fashioned 
kind,  so  that  the  grass  grew  thick  and  soft 


A    STRAWBERRY    HUNT.  303 

beneath.  The  sunlight  flecked  the  grass  with 
gold,  the  sky  was  deeply  blue,  and  a  slight  breeze 
had  sprung  up.  Even  the  boys  felt  the  quiet, 
peaceful  beauty  of  the  wide,  old  orchard,  and 
were  quite  willing  to  rest  for  an  hour,  while 
Marjorie  and  her  sisters  told  merry  tales  of  their 
many  escapades  in  dear  old  Kayuna. 

"  Three  o'clock,"  yawned  Jack  Fleming,  at 
last.  "  We  ought  to  go  and  see  if  those  straw- 
berries are  drying  up,  don't  you  think  ? " 

"  We  ought  to  be  about  it,  if  we  're  going  to 
take  any  home,"  assented  Marjorie  ;  and  they  all 
rose  slowly  and  strolled  to  the  garden  again. 
The  berries  were  so  large  and  so  plentiful,  that 
in  a  very  few  minutes  every  basket  was  filled  to 
the  brim. 

"  Eunice,  you  and  Cricket  run  down  to  the 
farm-house  and  ask  'Manda  for  some  big  pails," 
ordered  Marjorie,  in  true,  older-sisterly  fashion. 

"  All  right,"  answered  Eunice,  obediently. 
«  Come  on,  Cricket.  Where  is  she  ?  Crick-et! " 

"  Here  I  am,"  answered  a  forlorn  little  voice. 

"  Here,"  was  in  the  grape-arbour  near  by. 
Cricket  was  discovered  sitting  huddled  up  in  a 
little  bunch,  with  her  head  on  her  knees. 

Marjorie  hurried  across  to  her. 


304  CRICKET. 

"Why,  poor  little  Cricket!  What  is  the 
matter  ? " 

"Nothing,  I  guess,  'cept  my  head  aches  so," 
Cricket  replied,  rather  dismally.  Her  sunny 
little  face  was  very  pale  and  her  eyes  looked 
heavy  and  dark. 

"  Poor  child  !  "  said  Marjorie,  sympathetically, 
sitting  down  beside  her.  "  It  's  the  hot  sun,  I 
think.  Come  down  to  the  farm-house  with  me, 
and  'Manda  will  let  you  lie  down  for  a  while." 

Cricket  looked  doubtfully  out  into  the  sun- 
light. From  the  garden  it  was  not  very  far 
across  the  field  down  to  the  farm-house,  but  the 
sun  looked  very  hot. 

"  I  'd  rather  stay  here,  I  think,  Marjorie," 
she  said,  doubtfully,  "  my  legs  feel  so  wobbly." 

"What's  the  matter  with  the  kid?"  asked 
Harold  Gray,  who  was  a  big  boy  of  fourteen,  and 
very  fond  of  sunny  little  Cricket. 

"Nothing's  the  matter,  only  my  head  aches 
so,"  Cricket  tried  to  smile,  but  it  was  a  very 
watery  attempt.  She  so  seldom  had  a  headache 
that  it  seemed  a  very  serious  thing  to  her. 

"  I  want  her  to  go  down  to  the  farm-house  and 
lie  down,  but  she  doesn't  feel  like  walking 
there,"  explained  Marjorie. 


A   STRAWBERRY   HUNT.  305 

"Is  that  all?  That's  easily  fixed.  Here, 
Jack,  make  a  lady's  chair  with  me,  to  carry  this 
young  lady  in.  Now,  Marjorie,  help  my  lady  up." 

Cricket  stood  up  and  the  boys  lowered  their 
hands. 

"  Now,  then,  put  your  arms  around  our 
shoulders,"  said  Harold,  as  they  raised  the  little 
girl  gently.  "That's  right.  Put  your  head 
down  on  mine,  if  it  i  wobbles,'  "  for  Cricket's 
throbbing  head  refused  to  stay  upright,  and 
bobbed  helplessly  down  on  Harold's.  Marjorie 
ran  ahead. 

'Manda  saw  them  coming,  and  stood  at  the 
door  ready  to  greet  them. 

"  I  do  declare,  I  'm  proper  glad  to  see  you ! " 
she  exclaimed,  hospitably,  to  Marjorie.  "  'Gus- 
tus  John  he  was  up  to  the  stables  a  spell  ago, 
and  he  seen  you  all  there  a-pickin'  berries,  'n' 
he  sez  when  he  come  in,  ''Mandy,'  sez  he,  'I 
ruther  guess  the  children  will  be  along  down 
bime-by.'  You  see  yer  pa  stopped  here  yester- 
day, an'  he  said  that  he  'lowed  you  'd  kinder  en- 
joy comin'  out  here  to  pick  them  berries,  an' 
here  ye  be.  La!  what's  the  matter  with 
Cricket  ?  I  'lowed  she  wuz  bein'  carried  thet 
way  fur  fun." 


306  CRICKET. 

The  motherly  soul  was  warmly  welcoming  the 
children,  while  her  kind  tongue  ran  on. 

"Cricket  has  a  bad  headache,  'Manda,"  an- 
swered Marjorie ;  "  will  you  let  her  lie  down  here 
for  a  while  ?  " 

"  Why,  for  the  land's  sake !  Poor  little  dear ! 
lie  down  on  my  sofy  ?  why,  of  course  she  shall," 
and  she  had  Cricket  in  her  arms  in  a  moment. 
"  You  all  sit  right  down  here  for  a  spell  and 
make  yourselves  perfectly  to  home,  while  I  fix 
up  this  poor  little  critter." 

"No,  we  won't  stay  now,  thank  you,"  said 
Marjorie.  "  Could  you  let  us  have  some  large 
pails  to  fill  with  berries  ?  Papa  says  that 
'Gustus  John  offered  to  bring  our  extra  berries 
to  town  for  us  to-morrow." 

"  Certain,  sure,  he  did,  my  dear.  You  jest 
go  right  in  the  but'try  and  git  some  of  them  big 
pails  a-settin'  right  along  side  o'  the  flour-barrel. 
You  know  where  'tis,  /  guess.  An'  Miss  Mar- 
jorie, git  some  o'  them  fresh  ginger-cakes  I 
baked  this  mornin',  they  're  on  the  but'try  shelf, 
an'  find  some  milk,  an'— 

"Oh,  dear,  no,  thank  you,"  protested  Mar- 
jorie, laughing,  "  we  've  had  plenty  of  luncheon, 
and  have  filled  up  all  the  corners  with  berries. 
We  only  want  some  pails." 


A   STRAWBERRY   HUNT.  307 

"  Now,  Madge,  Madge,  young  lady,  speak  for 
yourself.  I  want  to  test  Mrs.  Hecker's  ginger- 
cakes  and  milk,  for  my  accordion's  begun  to 
close,"  said  Alex. 

"  Dear  me ! "  cried  Marjorie,  in  despair. 
"We'll  have  to  feed  you  on  dried  apples  and 
water.  They  '11  fill  you  up,  if  nothing  else  will." 

"  Not  any,  I  thank  you,"  returned  Alex, 
quickly.  "  I  've  no  desire  to  be  a  howling 
swell." 

'Manda,  meanwhile,  had  bustled  off  with 
Cricket,  into  the  cool,  dark,  little  best-parlour, 
and  had  laid  her  on  the  slippery  hair-cloth  sofa, 
with  its  round,  bolster-like  pillow,  about  as 
downy  as  if  it  were  stuffed  tight  with  sawdust. 
But  any  place,  quiet  and  dark,  was  grateful  to 
the  poor  little  aching  head,  whose  temples 
throbbed  in  jerks  that  brought  tears  to  the  blue 
eyes. 

Marjorie  tiptoed  in,  presently,  to  see  if  she 
were  comfortably  fixed,  before  they  went  back 
for  their  berries. 

Cricket  opened  her  eyes  in  answer  to  Mar- 
jorie's  inquiry.  'Manda  had  gone  out  of  the 
room  for  a  moment. 

"Where's  Mamie  Hecker?"  whispered  Cricket. 


308  CRICKET. 

"Don't  worry  about  her,  dear.  She's  gone 
to  spend  a  week  with  her  Aunt  Jane.  You're 
safe." 

"Oh!"  Cricket  closed  her  eyes  in  great 
relief,  then  opened  them  as  she  said,  miserably, 
"  I  can't  walk  a  step  now,  and  I  don't  believe  I 
could  sit  up  in  the  car.  I  don't  see  how  I  'm 
going  to  get  home." 

"  That 's  all  right,"  said  Marjorie,  soothingly, 
"for  'Gustus  John  is  going  to  drive  us  to  Por- 
ter's Inn,  and  if  you  're  well  enough  you  will  go 
then,  but  if  you  don't  feel  able,  'Manda  wants 
you  to  stay  all  night.  They  '11  send  you  to 
town  in  the  morning,  with  'Gustus  John.  You 
would  n't  mind  staying,  would  you  ? " 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Cricket,  feeling  much  too 
badly  to  care  about  anything  but  lying  still. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

LEFT    BEHIND. 

THE  children's  voices  died  away  in  the  dis- 
tance. Presently  the  door  opened  carefully, 
and  'Manda  came  in,  with  a  big  pillow  and  a 
tumbler. 

"  There,  now,  dearie,"  she  said,  setting  down 
her  tumbler,  and  slipping  the  big,  soft  pillow 
under  Cricket's  head.  "  That 's  a  sight  better. 
That  sofy  pillow,  'taint  very  soft.  I'  d  hev  taken 
you  right  into  my  room  an'  put  you  to  bed,  but 
it's  awful  hot  there  now,  being  right  off  the 
kitchen  so,  'n'  upstairs  is  hot,  too.  You're  a 
little  mite  sick  to  your  stomick,  too,  ain't  you? 
I  thought  so.  Now  drink  this  lemonade,  an'  it 
will  kinder  stop  that  gnawin'  feeling  quicker 
nor  a  wink." 

"Lemonade?"  repeated  Cricket,  lifting  her 
heavy  eyes  in  surprise.  "  When  I  'm  sick  ?  "  for 
she  associated,  naturally,  any  illness  with  medi- 
cines. "  Won't  it  hurt  me  ?  " 

"Bless  your  little  heart,  no.     It  won't  hurt 


310  CRICKET. 

you  a  mite.  It'll  settle  your  stomick  wonder- 
ful, that 's  all.  'Taint  very  sweet." 

'Manda  slipped  her  hand  under  the  pillow  and 
raised  the  aching  head  so  gently  that  Cricket 
scarcely  felt  it  move.  She  drained  the  tumbler 
obediently,  though  the  lemonade  was  rather 
sour.  Then  she  nestled  down  into  the  soft 
pillow  with  a  sigh  of  relief.  'Manda  sat  by  her, 
waving  a  big  palm-leaf  fan,  with  a  slow,  even 
motion.  The  silence  and  the  darkness  soon 
began  to  soothe  the  throbbing  pain,  and  Cricket 
at  last  dropped  into  a  fitful  doze,  that  soon 
became  a  sound  sleep. 

An  hour  passed,  and  'Manda  heard  the  chil- 
dren's voices  as  they  came  across  the  field  again. 
She  tiptoed  softly  from  the  room,  'sh-ing  them 
all,  with  uplifted  finger. 

"  She 's  jest  dropped  asleep,  poor  little  mite," 
she  said,  in  answer  to  their  anxious,  whispered 
inquiries.  "  Yes,  Miss  Marjorie,  you  jest  leave 
her  to-night,  an'  'Gustus  John,  he'll  fetch  her 
in  town  in  the  mornin',  all  right." 

"  Sha'n't  I  stay  with  her  ?  "  asked  Eunice. 

"There  ain't  no  need,  Miss  Eunice,  I'd  be 
proper  glad  to  hev  you,  but  there  ain't  no  need, 
'less  you  particular  wish  it.  I  '11  jest  admire  to 


LEFT    BEHIND.  311 

hev  Cricket  stay,  and  take  care  of  her  myself. 
La,  suz !  there  won't  be  no  need  of  anybody's  tak- 
in'  care,  I  rather  guess,  for  like 's  not,  when  she 
wakes  up,  her  headache  '11  be  all  gone,  an'  prob'- 
bly  by  six  o'clock  she'll  be  wantin'  to  go  after 
the  caows.  No,  Miss  Eunice,  you  kin  jest  as 
well  as  not  go  right  along  with  the  others,  an'  be 
sure  an'  tell  your  ma  that  I  jest  admire  to  hev 
Cricket  stay." 

"  I  know  you  '11  take  good  care  of  her,"  said 
Marjorie,  hesitating.  "I  only  hope  Cricket 
won't  feel  lonely  or  homesick  when  she  wakes 
up." 

"  Oh,  law !  no ;  don't  you  worrit  now,  Miss 
Marjorie.  She  needs  her  sleep  out,  thet's  all 
The  hot  sun  an'  the  berries  was  too  much  for 
her.  What  a  sight  of  berries  you've  got! 
Never  wuz  a  better  crop  than  this  year.  Pity 
yer  missin'  the  season." 

The  party  looked  with  much  satisfaction  at 
the  result  of  their  labours.  Four  six-quart 
pails  overflowing  with  luscious  fruit  stood  in  a 
row  on  the  steps,  and  besides  that,  their  lunch 
baskets  were  filled  to  the  brim. 

"  I  'm  real  sorry  you  told  'Gustus  John  that 
you  wasn't  goin'  to  stop  to  have  a  bite  of 


312  CRICKET. 

victuals  with  us,  for  here  he  comes  now  with 
the  team.  Must  you  go  ?  " 

"  It 's  after  five,"  answered  Marjorie,  "  and  it 
will  be  nearly  seven  before  we  get  home  now. 
Yes,  we  must  go.  Well,  we  are  so  much 
obliged,  'Manda." 

"  Well  now,  I  'm  sure  you  've  no  call  to  be. 
You  dunno  how  I  'm  goin'  to  miss  yer  all  this 
summer.  Don't  know  what  we  '11  do  without 
you  an'  Cricket  an'  all  your  pranks,"  added 
'Manda,  turning  to  Eunice. 

'Gustus  John  and  his  big  wagon  came  round 
from  the  barn  just  then. 

"  Pile  in,  young  folks,"  he  said,  cheerily. 
"  Tain't  a  very  handsome  kerridge,  but  I  guess 
you'll  find  it  considerable  better  than  walkin' 
over  to  Porter's  Inn,  when  you're  dead  beat 
out.  All  in  ?  Oh,  'Mandy,  give  us  some  gin- 
ger-cakes or  sumthin'  to  eat  goin'  along,  bein' 
as  they  won't  stay  to  set  by." 

"Yes,  I've  a  basket  full  all  ready,"  said 
'Manda,  producing  one,  amid  the  protests  of  the 
children  —  even  the  "accordion"  boys  —  that 
they  could  n't  eat  another  mouthful  of  anything. 

"But  I  can't  go  without  seeing  Cricket," 
exclaimed  Marjorie,  suddenly  stopping. 


LEFT   BEHIND.  313 

"  Now,  then,  Miss  Marjorie,  I  ain't  a-goin  to 
hev  you  disturbin'  the  child,"  said  'Manfja, 
hastily,  who  down  in  her  heart  was  dreadfully 
afraid  that  Cricket  might  wake  up  and  want  to 
go  home  with  the  others,  when  she  had  set  her 
heart  on  having  her  stay.  "  She  '11  sleep  a  good 
spell  yet,  if  she 's  let  to.  You  could  n't  do  her 
no  good  ef  you  did  see  her,  an'  it  might  jest  spile 
her  nap." 

"Perhaps  it's  better  not,"  Marjorie  said, 
reluctantly.  "  I  suppose  that  she  will  be  all  right 
to-night  anyway,  though  she  scarcely  ever  had  a 
headache  before  in  her  life.  And  you  '11  bring 
her  in  to-morrow,  'Gustus  John  ?  I  do  hope 
that  she  won't  mind  being  left." 

"  Now  don't  you  fuss  about  that,"  said  'Gustus 
John.  "  'Manda,  she  thinks  it 's  a  real  God- 
send, bein'  as  Mamie's  away.  'Mandy  sets  great 
store  by  Cricket,  you  know.  All  ready  now  ? 
Off  we  go!" 

'Gustus  John  had  promised  to  bring  all  the 
big  pails  of  berries  in  town  when  he  went  in  the 
next  morning,  so  the  children  had  only  their 
little  baskets  with  them.  Everybody  was  in 
place  now,  and  with  many  good-bys  and  thanks 
to  'Manda,  the  merry  party  started. 


314  CRICKET. 

It  was  after  five  when  'Manda  went  bustling 
back  into  the  house  to  prepare  supper.  There 
was  no  sound  from  the  parlour  yet,  and  she 
concluded  that  Cricket  was  still  sleeping. 

"  I  '11  jest  take  a  peek  at  the  little  dear,"  she 
said,  presently.  "Like's  not  she's  awake  by 
this  time,  and  will  want  some  supper." 

'Manda  had  always  been  devoted  to  Cricket. 
She  had  lived  with  Mrs.  Ward  as  nurse  when 
Cricket  was  a  baby,  and  the  little  girl  was  more 
than  a  year  old  when  'Manda  married  'Gustus 
John,  the  doctor's  farmer.  So  Cricket  had 
always  been  her  especial  pet. 

She  opened  the  parlour  door  gently  and 
looked  in.  Cricket  opened  her  eyes  with  a 
smile. 

"  Oh,  'Manda !  my  head  is  ever  so  much  bet- 
ter. It  doesn't  ache  scarcely  at  all.  Have  the 
others  come  in  from  the  strawberry  field  yet?" 

"  La,  suz !  yes,  dear  heart.  They  come  and 
went,  mebbe  half  an  hour  ago.  You  wuz  a 
sleepin'  so  nice  that  we  didn't  like  to  wake  you 
up." 

"Gone!"  exclaimed  Cricket,  feeling  for  the 
first  moment  as  if  she  were  deserted  on  a  desert 
island.  "  Why,  what  am  I  going  to  do  ?  " 


LEFT    BEHIND.  315 

"  You  're  goin'  to  stay  with  'Manda  to-night, 
my  pretty.  That  won't  be  bad,  will  it  ? " 

"No,"  faltered  Cricket,  but  she  felt  very  for- 
lorn and  homesick,  nevertheless. 

She  loved  kind  'Manda  dearly,  and  since 
Mamie  was  not  there  it  was  not  quite  so  bad, 
but  she  scarcely  ever  spent  a  night  away  from 
home  without  her  mother  in  her  little  life. 
Cricket  was  such  a  "  mother  child." 

She  sat  up,  but  she  found  that  her  head  still 
felt  a  little  faint  and  dizzy  when  she  moved. 
Two  little  tears  crept  up  into  her  eyes.  How 
could  she  go  to  bed  without  mamma ! 

"  I  want  my  mother ! "  real  sobs  now. 

"  There,  there,  my  pretty !  don't  cry !  "  soothed 
'Manda,  much  distressed,  as  she  gathered  her 
nursling  into  her  motherly  arms. 

"Momrner  ain't  here,  but  'Mandy  will  take 
such  good  care  of  you,  an'  it 's  jest  fur  to-night. 
To-morrow  mornin',  'Gustus  John,  he's  got  to 
be  off  real  early,  an'  you'll  hev  to  be  up  with 
the  birds,  I  guess,  an'  you  '11  hev  a  bee-you-tif ul 
ride  in  town.  An'  then,"  'Mandy  went  on,  for- 
getting that  Cricket  was  not  a  baby,  as  she  set- 
tled her  head  more  comfortably  on  her  broad 
bosom,  "  after  tea,  to-night,  if  your's  feelin'  reel 


316  CRICKET. 

smart,  there  ain't  nuthin'  to  bender  our  takin'  a 
little  walk  down  to  the  village  to  see  Hilda 
Mason.  She 's  goin'  to  miss  you  a  sight  this 
summer." 

Cricket  began  to  feel  that  the  situation  had 
its  advantages,  after  all.  'Manda's  lap  was  very 
comfortable,  her  shoulder  very  soft  and  plump, 
and  her  arms  very  loving,  so  that  Cricket  could 
not  stay  forlorn  long,  especially  when  there  was 
the  thought  of  seeing  Hilda  Mason  so  soon.  So 
she  obeyed  'Manda's  advice  to  "  chirk  up,"  and 
soon  felt  like  going  out  on  the  little  front  porch 
to  sit,  while  'Manda  finished  getting  supper. 

Then  'Gustus  John  and  the  two  "  hired  men  " 
came  in,  and  with  Sarah,  the  rosy-cheeked 
"  hired  girl,"  they  all  sat  down  to  the  cosey, 
homely  meal. 

'Manda  would  not  let  Cricket  sit  with  the 
others,  but  she  had  put  her  in  state  at  a  little 
square  table  near  by,  all  by  herself.  The  little 
table  was  spread  with  'Manda's  best  china,  to  do 
honour  to  her  little  guest,  and  special  dainties  in 
the  way  of  preserves  and  cake  were  set  for  her. 
Cricket  enjoyed  her  supper,  with  the  "  warmed- 
over  "  potatoes,  great  slices  of  fresh  bread  and 
butter,  dried  beef,  cottage  cheese  and  pickles, 


CRICKET    AND    'MANDA. 


LEFT    BEHIND.  319 

cold  meat,  two  kinds  of  preserves,  berries  and 
three  kinds  of  cake.  Such  a  mixture,  you  will 
say ;  but  Cricket  was  hungry  enough  now  to 
taste  a  little  of  everything,  and  she  enjoyed  it  all. 

By  seven  o'clock  Cricket  felt  quite  as  well  as 
ever,  and  skipped  and  pranced,  just  as  usual, 
along  the  road  that  led  to  Hilda's  home,  while 
'Manda  followed,  one  broad  smile  of  content. 

Hilda  was  more  than  delighted  to  see  Cricket, 
of  course,  and  the  little  girls  had  a  lovely  time 
together.  Hilda  had  been  invited  to  go  over  to 
Marbury  to  stay  for  a  week  in  August,  with 
Cricket,  at  grandma's,  and,  of  course,  the  chil- 
dren were  delighted  to  make  arrangements  for 
that  important  visit. 

It  was  nine  o'clock  when  Cricket  and  'Manda 
returned  to  the  farm-house,  in  the  moonlight. 
It  seemed  odd  enough  not  to  go  on  up  the  hill 
when  they  came  to  the  little  bridge,  but  instead 
to  turn  in  at  the  white  gate,  and  Cricket  felt  a 
little  spasm  of  homesickness,  which  increased 
when  she  was  fairly  inside  the  house,  and  'Manda 
lighted  the  candle  for  her  to  go  upstairs.  How 
she  did  want  mamma  and  Eunice !  Fortunately, 
she  was  really  too  tired  now,  to  think  very 
much  about  anything  but  getting  to  bed. 


320  CRICKET. 

The  funny  little  spare-room  had  a  huge  bed- 
stead in  it,  an  old-fashioned  one,  with  four 
posts  and  curtains,  and  an  immense  feather  bed 
on  it.  When  'Manda  lifted  her  up  and  swung 
her  over  into  it,  she  sank  so  far  down,  that  the 
sides  rose  on  each  side  of  her  like  billows,  and 
the  sheet,  spread  across,  did  not  touch  her  at 
all.  But  she  was  in  the  Land  of  Nod  almost 
before  she  could  say  a  sleepy  "  Good-night"  to 
kind  'Manda,  and  she  knew  nothing  more. 

It  was  six  o'clock,  and  broad  daylight,  of 
course,  when  'Manda  came  in  to  awaken  her. 
Sleepy  Cricket  could  hardly  realize  that  there 
had  been  any  night  at  all.  She  rubbed  her 
drowsy  eyes  open  with  much  difficulty,  and 
'Manda  helped  her  through  her  toilet.  'Gustus 
John  had  to  start  for  town  by  seven  o'clock, 
and  the  wagon  already  stood  in  the  yard,  loaded 
up  with  vegetables  and  things  for  the  market. 
'Gustus  John,  himself,  and  one  hired  man,  were 
coming  to  the  house  with  pails  of  foaming  milk, 
and  another  man  was  harnessing  the  big,  black 
horses  to  the  wagon. 

Breakfast  was  over  at  last.  The  pails  of 
strawberries  were  snugly  tucked  away  under  the 
front  seat,  and  everything  was  ready  to  start. 


LEFT    BEHIND.  321 

'Manda  gave  her  little  guest  many  a  parting  hug 
and  kiss,  and  said  she  did  n't  see  how  she  ever 
was  going  to  stand  it,  not  to  have  the  doctor's 
family  at  Kayuna,  and  the  children  junketin' 
around,  just  the  same  as  usual.  Cricket  hugged 
and  kissed  her  in  return,  and  then  'Gustus  John 
swung  her  up  on  the  high  front  seat,  where  she 
sat,  holding  on  to  the  back,  with  her  feet  swing- 
ing above  the  pails  of  strawberries. 

It  always  seemed  delightfully  dangerous  on 
that  front  seat  where  there  was  no  dash-board, 
and  where  there  seemed  to  be  nothing  to  prevent 
her  lurching  down  on  the  horses'  broad  backs 
if  the  wagon  pitched  over  "  thank-you-marms." 
'Gustus  John,  in  his  blue  blouse  and  broad- 
brimmed  hat,  climbed  heavily  up  beside  her, 
gave  a  final  glance  over  his  load,  cracked  his 
whip,  and  off  they  started  with  a  sudden  jerk 
that  brought  Cricket's  toes  very  unexpectedly  on 
a  level  with  her  head,  and  nearly  sent  her  pitch- 
ing back  into  the  spring  peas  and  asparagus. 

It  was  a  very  different  trip  from  the  one  they 
had  taken  last  fall.  'Manda's  parting  word  to 
'Gustus  John  was  that  he  must  be  careful  and 
not  lose  Cricket  out,  at  which  'Gustus  re- 
sponded,— 

«Sho!" 


322  CRICKET. 

He  never  liked  to  be  reminded  of  that  acci- 
dent. The  horses  settled  down  to  their  farm- 
work  jog,  not  in  the  least  like  the  brisk  trot 
they  had  when  they  were  harnessed  to  the  light 
wagon.  They  knew  quite  well  that  they  had  a 
load  behind  them  and  a  long  pull  before  them, 
and  took  it  easily. 

The  air  was  fresh  and  sweet,  the  birds  twit- 
tered and  chirped,  the  morning  dew  lay  like 
diamonds  on  the  grass,  and  Cricket,  who,  as  we 
know,  had  a  special  delight  in  rising  early,  drew 
a  long  breath  of  pleasure.  She  chattered  gayly 
away,  and  'Gustus  John,  in  turn,  told  her  excit- 
ing tales  of  that  wonderful  time  of  long  ago — 
"  When  I  was  a  little  boy." 

It  was  not  yet  nine  when  the  wagon  clattered 
over  the  long  bridge,  and  they  were  fairly  in 
town.  They  had  to  go  more  slowly  then.  They 
drove  to  May  Chester's  first  to  leave  her  straw- 
berries, Cricket  pointing  out  the  way,  then  to 
Jack  Fleming's  and  the  Grays'.  Then  they 
turned  into  the  home-street  and  drew  up  before 
her  own  door.  Cricket  felt,  as  'Gustus  John 
lifted  her  down  from  her  high  perch,  that  she 
must  have  made  a  trip  to  Europe,  for  it  seemed  so 
long  since  she  had  left  there,  yesterday  morning. 


LEFT    BEHIND.  323 

"  I  'm  so  much  obliged  to  you  for  this  lovely 
ride,  'Gustus  John,"  she  said,  as  they  went  up 
the  steps,  'Gustus  carrying  her  berries.  "  I  've 
had  the  elegantest  time  riding  in  this  morning 
and  having  you  tell  me  stories." 

"Wai,  now,  I  tell  you,"  said  'Gustus  John, 
"  I  'd  give  considerbul  down,  ef  I  had  yer  to  ride 
in  with  me  every  time  I  come  to  the  city.  We  'd 
hev  purty  snug  times,  would  n't  we,  eh  ?  Good-by. 
Remember  me  to  yer  pa  and  ma.  Good-by." 

And  Cricket,  throwing  him  a  kiss  from  the 
tips  of  her  fingers,  vanished  in  the  house. 


THE    END. 


APRS     1951i 


JAIT 

JflN 


NOW 

JUL  0  7  1998 

DUE 2 mm  mi  & 


UNIVERsrrv  <      CALIFORI4U 
LOS  ANGELES 


P27 


